


Science of Evasion

by gsmaxwell



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Allison is a Peach, Alternate Canon, Angst with a Happy Ending, Argent Family, Argent Family is Cray-Cray, Backstory, Beacon High Makes It's Own Entertainment, Comedy of Errors, Cora Backstory, Cora Hale & Stiles Stilinski Bromance, Cora is Sneaky Like a Fox, Danny Just Wants to Help, Derek Hale is Bad at Feelings, F-ing Nemeton, F/M, Fake German and Spanish, I Put Money on Scott/Stiles Too, Lydia Can't Understand Them All, M/M, Mention of Erica and Boyd Deaths :(, Mid-season 3, Misunderstandings, Multi, New Mythical Bad, Oblivious Stiles, Original Characters - Freeform, Polyamous Pack, Scott is a Good Friend, Some Books Were Damaged, Stiles Stilinski Is Bad At Feelings, Team Parent, The Adults Team Up Too, The Japanese is Real Though, hints at 3B, the sheriff finds out, web of lies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-01
Updated: 2014-07-01
Packaged: 2018-02-06 23:12:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 64,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1876077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gsmaxwell/pseuds/gsmaxwell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek had thought Cora had died in the fire. There was a stamp on her files, somewhere, with a bright red DECEASED and a life insurance policy processed, paid, and received. It wasn’t like they could just stroll into the school office and enroll midyear whoopsie-daisy do-over without some kind of legal explanation. However when Stiles mentioned it Cora looked at him like he had suggested disemboweling puppies. </p><p>But, as time wore on, it became obvious that though the Hales self-described as a ‘close-knit family pack’ there was only so long those strings could last without fraying.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Science of Evasion

**Author's Note:**

> So, guys, I thought it would be funny in the beginning to write a comedy of errors story about Cora and Stiles and Derek BUT THEN IT TURNED INTO THIS AND I'M SUPER SORRY ABOUT IT. 
> 
> I've been writing this on and off since the end of Season 3B and I figured I'd post it now that it has finished consuming my soul and making me cry at night. I hope you all get some entertainment!

Stiles got it. His dad was a cop. After his mom had died, he had spent most of his time after school at the station doing homework while his father poured over countless mountains of paper works: parking tickets, birth certificates, death certificates, licenses, registrations, applications, paper, paper, paper, check, check, check. Police work was boring except when something horrible was happening and recently Stiles had begun to hate his younger self for leaping at every radio call.

 

Derek had thought Cora had died in the fire. There was a stamp on her files, somewhere, with a bright red DECEASED and a life insurance policy processed, paid, and received. It wasn’t like they could just stroll into the school office and enroll midyear whoopsie-daisy do-over without some kind of legal explanation. However, when Stiles mentioned it, Cora looked at him like he had suggested disemboweling puppies.

 

It hadn’t really been a problem-- at first. Cora hadn’t exactly been forthcoming with how she had escaped the Hale fire, where she had been for the last six years, and why she didn’t seem inclined to return to where that had been. She had seemed perfectly content to remain locked up in Derek’s loft with Derek and Peter, the scowling eyebrows and toothy sarcasm scarily genetic whenever Stiles was over. It was like the Hales were one person, only they came in different flavours of angst, sass and rage. That kind of lifestyle didn’t need any kind of paperwork so Stiles let it slide.

 

But, as time wore on, it became obvious that though the Hales self-described as a ‘close-knit family pack’ there was only so long those strings could last without fraying.

 

“I’m not your housemaid!”

 

Stiles just needed a book. One little book. A book shouldn’t have had him caught in what looked like Big Brother: The Lycanthropy Season Special.

 

“Considering the way you leave you stuff around the place makes that perfectly obvious,” that biting voice was definitely Derek. Stiles had been on the receiving end of that particular level of distain many times. “And don’t think I didn’t see you sneak in last night.”

“Maybe I wouldn’t sneak if you weren’t following me everywhere!” she snapped.

 

“I’m your Alpha! You have to listen to me!”

 

“You’re not _mom_!”

 

The air in the room had gone from heated to intense fury level ten as Derek’s eyes glowed red and his growl shifted to a low, thundering roar. Cora’s eyes changed yellow and there was a horrible ripping sounds as Derek threw the book he had been holding in his hands against an exposed pipe. Stiles glanced around wildly hoping that someone else was home, someone less susceptible to razor sharp claws and adolescent tempers, to intervene but there was only Peter watching with a gleeful smirk from the winding staircase.

 

“Okay, enough!” Stiles closed the door behind him with a bang, startling the two back to full human. Stiles hadn’t thought he had been particularly stealthy but from the surprised looks they had been too involved to hear his approach. “What the hell is wrong with you? I could have been anyone! There’s a pack of Alpha werewolves out there, hunting for _your_ blood, in case you’ve forgotten.”

 

“Stay out of it,” Derek snapped. He grabbed the presumably offensive shirt off the ground and threw it at Cora’s face. “And you, clean up after yourself.”

 

Cora growled but Derek stomped off before she could leap at his throat.

 

“Jesus,” Stiles let out a breath. “Who’s the teenage girl in this apartment? No offense, Cora.”

 

She wasn’t even listening to him. Her eyes were trained on the gaping stone wall that Derek had left through. In the little time she had been here, Stiles had only seen her go from Quiet Anger to Violent Rage without any space left on her emotions barometer. Her lips were still curled in a snarl and she almost seemed to be vibrating like a wire about to snap. He couldn’t stare for long though because she glanced at him, the needle quickly tipping somewhere in the familiar red. “What are you looking at?” she snapped.

 

“Nothing, what?” Stiles said quickly.

 

She rolled her eyes at him. “He’s such an ass sometimes. _Dickhead!_ ” She shouted the last word into the next room but if Derek replied it was inaudible to Stiles’s human ears. “What are you doing here anyway? Does the high school let you out early if you get declared incompetent?” she spat out the ‘high school’ like it was a dirty word which made Stiles raise an eyebrow.

 

Stiles bit his tongue and counted to three slowly before continuing. “Just looking for a book. The book Peter promised to lend me,” he glanced to the stairs where Peter, who had obviously gotten bored as soon as the yelling had stopped, had started to retreat up.

 

“Oh, yes,” Peter paused and slowly let his eyes drift from Stiles to the whirlwind of paper scattered around where Derek had been standing. “You should ask our Alpha about that one.”

 

“For the love of God,” Stiles pinched the bridge of his nose because there had been important, not yet digitalized information in that one. He looked up at Cora who was still glaring furiously at the empty space Derek had left.

 

Besides the scattered papers over the ground, the place was looking surprisingly clean. The battered desk Derek liked to lounge over as if he was some kind of CEO had been moved. A couch was there instead on top of a muted area rug that almost blended into the concrete. Someone had obviously put in an effort to set up some kind of kitchen with a hot plate and mini fridge next to a counter running along one wall and one of the pipes hooked into a free standing sink. There were even dishes in the dish rack and a shiny new wood table with chairs occupying the place.

 

If Stiles didn’t know better he would have thought someone was trying to make this place homey, despite the literal bare and exposed bones of the building’s foundation. He glanced at Cora, wondering if this was some kind of girl nesting instinct but, as she dropkicked the shirt spitefully onto couch with more deadly force than cotton blends deserved, that seemed unlikely. Stiles swallowed hard and she glanced at him because he knew his heart was starting to beat faster as a horrible, probably regrettable, idea formed.

 

“Look, I’ll spring you from the clutches of your prima donna brother if you help me piece this thing back together.”

 

Cora snorted and filling tore her eyes away to give him an indignant look. “Why would I help _you_?”

 

“I’ve got Chinese on speed dial, the first season of Lost Girl on my Netflix, and a house devoid of parental figures tonight.” He tried to look as non-threatening as he could. “It’ll be… fun.”

 

She looked at him, starting slowly from his wore sneakers up his body like she was registering every frayed hem and newly announced pimple in a database. He immediately regretted his offer but before he could try to make an excuse she seemed to come to a decision. “Good Chinese. The one with the crunchy spring rolls downtown.”

 

“Got it,” Stiles let out a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding. He could feel that little voice in his head going, w _hat the hell, man, I thought we had solved this death wish thing a while ago_ , but he squished it down. The Alpha pack was here and Derek was the only thing standing between him and a nasty evisceration. He needed the man focused, preparing, and ready to do his stupid heroics instead of cramming six years of sibling rivalry in the space of a week. If that meant spoon feeding some spring rolls in to the mini she-wolf then so be it.

 

She grabbed a canvas bag by the couch. Whatever calculating look he had thought he had seen had vanished, leaving behind the bristly demeanor she usually exuded. “And what the hell is Netflix?”

 

The Argents had been good for one thing at least. A digital bestiary was genius and Stiles had copied it onto his own hard drive. He had painstakingly gone through it, adding translations when he could, sticky notes where he couldn’t, and organizing it in a way that made sense to him. He had been adding to it as well, in the little spare time he had. Fortunately, Derek’s temper hadn’t ruined too many of the pages and they carefully pieced them together in order on the scanner one by one. The floor was littered with paper, a default setting for his room these days, so they had abandoned the bed and chair and were sitting cross-legged, knees almost touching.

 

“So,” Stiles finally broached the subject when Cora had been sedated with fried rice and her spring rolls. “The loft looked nice. Less like a dark under lord’s lair.”

 

Cora snorted. “Yeah, I guess. I burned the IKEA catalogue so you can thank me for that.”

 

Ah. Not Cora’s influence on the decor. Stiles filed that away for later. He tried to look interested in the handwritten pages in front of him.“So. Derek.” He whistled through his teeth trying for something casual. “The temper on him, am I right?”

 

Cora was quiet and staring intently at her hands. That was usually the expression Derek got when he was thinking of a particularly juicy threat so Stiles turned back to the scanner quickly. However, the silence stretched too long and he risked a glance back.

 

“He’s not that bad.” She sounded almost defensive.

 

Stiles prompted when it was clear she wasn’t going to continue. “The whole violence thing is a Hale trademark.” She glared at him. “Oh come on. I’ve seen Derek’s training methods. He’s all tough love. Fighter not a lover. Shows his feels with his fists.” He punched his palm with a smack, grimacing when he hit the bone on the heel of his hand by mistake.

 

Cora rolled her eyes. “I’d show you my feels but your father’s the sheriff and the murder investigation would be annoying.”

 

“And there’s the family resemblance,” Stiles said.

 

“Funny,” she shot him a look but reached for the next page to continue working instead of threatening to eat his face. “He was a nice brother. Before, I mean. He’s changed.”

 

“Nice?” Stiles scoffed before he could stop himself. “Sorry, but the nicest thing I’ve ever seen Derek involved ripping Peter’s throat out and that didn’t even take.”

 

“You don’t know him at all,” Cora insisted. She frowned. “He used to smile a lot more.”

 

Derek. Smiling. Stiles shivered. Smirking; sure. Grinning from the adrenaline of ripping out some monster’s throat; well yeah. He tried to picture it but it was like pasting a cartoon head on a person’s body and the resulting image was disturbing. “That seems a little unlikely. You’ve met your family, right? You’re not exactly Marsha Brady.”

 

Cora glared at him which Stiles kind of took as a point to his argument. “Don’t pretend you know my family.”

 

Stiles threw up his hands in surrender. “Fine, fine. You’re right, it’s not like all of you haven’t threatened to kill or maim me at some point. But my feelings aside, we’re kind of in crisis mode. If you two are going to work out any growing pains you’re going to have to do that on your own time.”

 

“I was the one locked up for three months in a bank vault. I know exactly what kind of crisis we’re in. And you’re the one that stormed in on us,” she added, grumpy. “That _was_ our own time.”

 

“And what a beautiful Cheerio family commercial experience it was.” Stiles sighed as she gave him a sour look.“I’m not saying you guys have to braid each other’s hair or take up tandem biking but you’ve got to live with each other. You just came back from the dead! Shouldn’t you guys be celebrating that?”

 

“I wasn’t dead,” she snapped. 

 

“Literally, no,” Stiles agreed. “Realistically, yeah, you kind of were. And, honestly, this whole secret, sad backstory has been played out. We don’t have time to put up with it and unless you bleed therapy then you’re just going to keep clashing with people.”

 

She remained stubbornly silent.

 

“Fine,” Stiles shrugged. “Keep not telling me. That’s fine. But certain _people_ ,” he stressed the word, flicking a shredded piece of paper from the book pointedly, “don’t have the same kind of wonderful patience I do.”

 

He knew he must have hit a nerve because Cora winced. “He wouldn’t kick me out.” She said the words convincingly but there was a troubled look in her eyes Stiles latched onto.

 

“He does have a warped sense of family, I guess.” He stared at Cora but she was stubbornly piecing together the next page like she was handling some kind of ancient document. “I mean, he still keeps Peter around for God knows what reason. After he _killed him_. I mentioned that, right?”

 

“He’s not going to kill me just because I’m annoying him, if that’s what you’re suggesting.”  

 

“Right,” Stiles said slowly. “For being annoying, no. Fit of rage, that’s all I’m saying. The guy has some impulse issues.”

 

She raised an eyebrow. “I thought you were supposed to be the smart one. If Derek had impulse issues you’d be the first one gone.”

 

He opened his mouth to reply then closed it again. She had a point. Fine, yes, Derek had scary good control over his scary amount of anger. However, that was getting him nowhere to his goal. He had to think of something to catch her attention, something to smash whatever wall she and Derek had going on. If not they were going to have pint-sized loose cannon and if the Alpha pack got a hold of her Stiles knew Derek would lead them straight into the line of fire without a second thought.

 

She had stopped piecing the pages together and was looking at him like she was trying to read something on his face. Terror- he hoped that wasn’t the thing that was showing. She didn’t look like a girl who respected people who showed their fears on their sleeves and Stiles hadn’t stopped being afraid since Peter and Lydia and his own mortality was suddenly on the table. He schooled his face calm.

 

“Look,” he said more gently. “I know you’re mad at him.”

 

“Mind reader,” she said, her eyes wide with exaggeration. “Tell me, O Wise One, did you realise that before or after you heard us shouting down the street at each other?”

 

“You’re mad because he didn’t look for you,” he ignored her. She rolled her eyes again but she didn’t protest. “If he had known you were alive he would have honed creepy stalker skills on you, not Scott. I mean all those times he showed up at our parties, or lacrosse practice, or the time he drove Allison home, or broke into Scott’s room and the locker room at school—Jesus, never mind. The guy’s a freak. Don’t tell people you’re related to him.”

 

Cora was looking at him like he had lost his mind but she was paying attention. “You’re right. But what he is going to do is keep pushing at you until one of you snaps and, I don’t know how many times I have to say it before it sinks in, but _we don’t have time for_ that. Both of you have some serious abandonment issues. You’ve got to plant some kind of—“ Stiles was about to say anchor but realized at the last second how that would sound and hastily changed his word direction, “— seed. Roots, that’s what you’re both looking for and one of you has to make the first move.”

 

She looked frustrated but curious and Stiles was grateful that she at least seemed to be listening. “Why do you care so much about whether Derek and I get along?”

 

“Preservation,” Stiles said firmly. She snorted as if she didn’t believe him and he scowled. She schooled her face into something approaching innocence.

 

It didn’t seem to matter that Cora could rip him limb from limb, the more dangerous something became the more Stiles wanted to know how she ticked.

 

It was something he had in common with his father, one of the few things in fact. Where Stiles was curious and restless, his father was patient and logical. Before his mother had died, he and his father had butted heads over everything from sports to who was the real bad guy in the Three Little Pigs (natural selection, Stiles had argued during one of the few times his father had been home for his bedtime story. If the pigs were too stupid to build proper protections then the eldest brother should had let the wolf eat them and cut them from the pig gene pool. His father had looked at Stiles like Stiles had been some kind of pod-person and sputtered, “But—family!”)

 

Even the way they solved problems were at odds. When Stiles often scrambled to look through every book to find the answer, cramming information into his head like it was trying to escape, his father liked to lay out all the pieces together and let the answer come to him. However, after they had been forced to spend so much time together, those two directions seemed to bleed over onto each other until they mixed into a hybrid of the two.

 

They worked. They could work, finally, together on something, their methods weaving together to strength each other. The first time Stiles managed to help unstick his father from a particularly difficult robbery case he found himself seeking that approval over and over. Sometimes, Stiles wondered what would have happened to their relationship if they hadn’t been forced together, if his mother hadn’t died, if his father had remained an occasional parent.

 

He must have been too quiet because Cora watching him again. Quickly, he cleared his throat took the pages from her to put on the scanner.

 

“What is this book about anyway?” her voice was quiet but it was better than the silence.

 

“I don’t know, really,” Stiles frowned. “Your uncle got it from some book dealer. He said it was kind of like a bestiary only, you know,” Stiles twirled his fingers. “In German.”

 

“Are you going to translate it?”

 

“Unfortunately, no,” he sighed. “I’ve been trying to beef up my Latin these days. I’m going to pass it to Lydia and she’ll do it. The girl’s a language genius. She can just pick it up.”

 

“Is she the one sleeping with one of the twins?

 

“Hey,” Stiles held up a finger in warning. “She’s getting important undercover information.”

 

“I’m pretty sure she doesn’t even know that he’s part of the Alpha pack.”

 

“What?” Stiles sputtered. “Of course she does! Why else would she be sleeping with him?”

 

Cora laughed, the first time Stiles had ever heard that noise from her so it was a little disturbing. Still, it was better than growling or threatening or the other terrifying noises he had heard her make up until now. “You guys have terrible communication.”

 

“Ironic, coming from you,” Stiles gritted his teeth but decided to let it slide.

 

They worked together, putting the pages in what Stiles hoped was the actual order until Stiles finally passed out on the floor around three in the morning.

 

He woke up on the floor to leftover sweet and sour sauce all over his elbow, a horrific crick in his neck and an angry red-eyed werewolf looming directly over him. However, the last bit was a pretty common occurrence nowadays so Stiles just groaned as he rolled over to his back, trying to keep the red sauce from spreading to the carpet and reminding himself this was how Derek expressed his love.

 

“Isn’t it a little early for the whole ‘grr, I’m the Alpha’ thing?”

 

“What is my sister doing in your bed?”

 

Okay, Stiles would give him that one.

 

He jerked up, sending the papers that had crumpled on his tee-shirt to the ground and, yeah, sure enough, Cora had abandoned him on the floor sometime in the night and was curled up around his pillow like a cat.

 

It would be a more gratifying milestone if her brother wasn’t looking at his neck like he was trying to figure out the correct amount of torque would be needed to take his head off.

 

“Cora, we’re leaving. Now.”

 

She blinked up at him and yawned. “As long as we stop at IHOP,” she muttered sleepily as she slung her legs over the bed and laboriously climbed to her feet. It was adorable, really, but Stiles kept his mouth shut as Derek shot him another threatening look. Stiles was a little concerned she was going to slip off the roof but Derek steadied her elbow and they went off down the road into the early morning.

 

***

 

The next morning Scott sat next to him in English with a strange look on his face. This wasn’t exactly a strange way to start the day. Scott was kind of a strange guy, one of the reasons they had bonded at such a young age, but when the look didn’t go away Stiles decided it prompted some further investigation.

 

“Dude. Why do you look like someone threw a pee balloon in your face?”

 

Scott blinked, startled out of his stupor. “Sorry, I just smelled something. Have you been hanging out with Cora or something?”

 

“Yeah,” Stiles wiggled his eyebrow a little. “She spent most of the night.”

 

“Ack,” Scott shuddered causing Stiles to frown in indignation.

 

“Hey, what’s that for? She’s not exactly unattractive.”

 

“She’s Derek’s sister,” Scott shuddered again. “That’s like, half of Derek’s DNA.”

 

“First, that’s not how siblings are genetically related. I thought you got a decent mark in bio last year. And second, in case you haven’t noticed, Derek’s kind of hot too.”

 

“I guess, if you like tall, dark and stalker. Did she, like, spend the night or,” Scott mirrored Stiles’s eyebrows, “did she _spend the night_.”

 

Before Stiles could answer, the back of his chair jerked and both of them turned to glare at Lydia. She tapped her pencil on her notebook. “Boys, this is a learning institution. None of us want to hear about your non-sexual conquests right after we’ve had our morning lattes.”

 

There was a girl on Stiles’s right. He caught her looking over with wide eyes. Lydia followed his gazed and zeroed in on her like a laser to a target. Stiles winced as the girl started to furiously text something on her phone. Lydia was as terrifying as she was beautiful, Stiles knew that first hand. Whatever the girl had done to her, Stiles felt bad. He smiled at her sympathetically before turning around.

 

“How do you know it was non-sexual?” Stiles gritted his teeth. “It could have totally been sexual. People are sexually attracted to me.”

 

Lydia snorted yet somehow didn’t manage to lose an ounce of grace. “You were sending me scans of that book pretty steadily so unless you managed to wow her world while the picture was buffering, the only naked woman you saw last night was in that third chapter.”

 

“Don’t worry,” Scott patted Stiles on the hand. “ _I_ know you can be sexually attractive.”

 

There was a strangled-sounding choke from the girl. Stiles grinned gratefully at Scott. “Thanks, bro.”

 

“Anytime.”

 

“I can’t believe I’m forced to hang out with you two,” Lydia muttered. Stiles made a rude gesture at her and went to turn around, thinking that was the end of their lovely morning interaction, when Lydia said, “Cora was helping you?”

 

“Yeah,” Stiles said vexed. “All night. Long. And hard.” He made a gesture with his hands that was probably a bit vulgar but how the hell was Cora ever going to find out, right? He glanced nervously at the windows.

 

“The more you lay on the heterosexual overture the more it makes me not believe you. Excuse you, do you need to go to the ladies’ room or something?” the last comment was directed at the girl who had let out a barking, rough laugh.

 

“R-right, sorry,” the girl was clutching her phone mid-text. “I-I’ll just go then.”

 

There were only a few minutes until the start of class but the girl hit at least three desks in her flight from the room. Stiles shot a look at Lydia. “Maybe if you were a little nicer you won’t have to lower yourself to hang out with us mutants.”

 

“Cowabunga,” Scott snickered and Stiles high fived him without looking away from Lydia.

 

“You should tell her to come by my house.”

 

“What? That girl? I don’t even know her!”

 

“I meant Cora.”

 

“Yeah, right, what the hell would you guys talk about? She’s not exactly a poster child for brand names.”

 

“Erica used to stop by sometimes.”

 

          It was strange how a couple of syllables could feel so painful in his stomach. “Fine. If you think you’re really up to it, I’ll tell her your door is open. Or window. If you’re going to consort with werewolves you’d better get used to that.”

 

          “I have a private entrance,” Lydia rolled her eyes.

 

Stiles looked ahead as the second bell rang and the door opened with the last remaining students followed by Miss Blake. If Lydia wanted to try and terrorize the new girl then she would have the chance. He didn’t even know what the poor girl beside him had done to offend Lydia but she hadn’t come back yet. Maybe it would be good to let them dull their teeth on each other instead of him for a change. And then maybe Cora would see that their lines of communications weren’t as shitty as she had implied.

 

He made a quick mental note to double check with Lydia that she knew twins were in fact Alphas.

 

They managed to make it through the school day without any more Cora-related topics coming up until Stiles cornered Scott by his locker after practice before the other boy could run off.

 

“Hey, so I was thinking, it’s been a while since we had a face to face Xbox marathon.”

 

Scott’s back stiffened apologetically as he closed his locker. “Sorry man, it’s just, Allison has some cousin in town and she asked me to hang out with them.”

 

“You really think that’s a good idea? We’ve kind of got enough on our plates with killer Alphas and human sacrifices. Do you really want to let more hunters know you exist?

 

“They’re some distant relative,” Scott shrugged. “They’re visiting from Germany and they barely speak English anyway. Plus, Mr. Argent isn’t that bad anymore since he gave up trying to kill me.”

 

“Right,” Stiles leaned against the locker. “That’s a great story to tell the kids. Mommy and Daddy got together because Grandpa graciously decided to not slice Daddy in half. Heartwarming.”

 

“Seriously,” Scott insisted. “I think it’s more like her dad wants to keep an eye on us. Ever since he helped out with Boyd and Erica he’s been pretty chill about the whole werewolf thing. And it’s kind like a recon mission,” Scott grinned. “Keeping an eye on the enemy.”

 

“I’d still watch my back,” Stiles advised because as much as he loved Scott the boy had a blind spot as big as a barn when it came to the Argents. “Later?”

 

“Definitely,” Scott clapped him on the shoulder and left quickly. Stiles gathered his things slowly, he had nowhere to be and he had been counting on Scott to fulfill his social calendar for the evening. Still, with his homework mostly caught up on and the Alpha pack in a holding pattern it wasn’t like he was going to begrudge the universe for giving him some alone time.

 

His father was on shift late and the house was comfortingly quiet when he got there. Night was falling faster each day so by the time he scraped together some leftovers and shot through several levels of zombies he went upstairs feeling fairly content despite how the evening had turned out.

 

It was indeed a rare evening he had alone and maybe this whole Argent thing turned out to be a blessing in disguise. He closed his curtains and doubled checked the window was locked before clicking his computer on and flicked through to the secret files buried under way too much encryption for his father to ever find.

 

Just before he clicked, the wood on his window splintered at the hinges of the bolts as the lock ripped free. He tripped, falling from his chair painfully as a bolt of adrenaline shot through his heart like a bullet.  

 

Stiles scrambled across the room for the tool kit in his closet containing some very contraband lighter fluid and wolfsbane mixture Lydia had whipped up for the human members of the pack one afternoon. The Alpha pack had proven they would do anything to get to Derek, use anyone, and it wasn’t like Stiles had generated a lot of love with them. However, as his hand finally closed on the flip lock (why the hell would he lock something he needed to get at so quickly, god _damn it_ ) he realized his attackers were much too quiet.

 

Cora was looking at him with an arched eyebrow half in, half out of the window, perched like a very deadly sparrow. “What the hell are you doing?”

 

“Oh my God.” Stiles’s muscles collapsed like they had been cut from their strings and a sour feeling flood of relief washed over him. “I’m fighting for my life, Jesus, what the hell do you think I’m doing!”

 

Cora pulled herself gracefully through the window, unperturbed that she had nearly taken ten years off of Stiles’s life, and glanced around the room in a far more familiar manner than Stiles was comfortable with. “Why was your window locked?”

 

Stiles had to punch the carpet or else he was in danger of punching something much more capable of punching back harder. “Alpha pack! Rogue evil druids! Burglar! Rabid chipmunks!”

 

Cora settled on the bed, picking up his math textbook and opening it. She glanced at him, still sprawled on his back on the ground. “Chipmunks?”

 

Stiles let his head bang on the floor so the pain cleared his mind. “It wouldn’t be the weirdest thing I’ve seen in this town. What the hell are you doing here?”

 

Cora flipped a few more pages, scowling at them. “Is this kind of thing actually important?”

 

“Cora.”

 

“I get adding, subtracting, multiplying and all that but all these letters and triangles and lines. It looks made up.”

 

Stiles sat up and grabbed the textbook from her loose grip. “So says all high school students everywhere but, yes, if you want to get somewhere in life the American education system requires you to figure out all the cubes and squiggly lines. Why. Are. You. Here.”

 

“I liked math. When I could go to school.”

 

Her eyes looked at him, round and sad. Stiles knew when he was being played. He had a life time of pretty girls with pretty eyes coaxing homework answers and the last Danish in the cafeteria out of him. But this girl could do more than cut down his self-esteem. He shoved the textbook back at her with a frustrated grumble. “Do you want me to find a way for you to get into school? Falsify police records or something? Because it’s not as easy as TV makes it sound.”

 

Cora sighed and flopped on the bed. “Peter won’t tell me where his apartment is. I’ve got nowhere else to go.”

 

“Home,” Stiles grumbled. “Depressing as it is, you’ve got one.”

 

“Derek’s got a girl over.”

 

Stiles froze. “A girl? At the loft?”

 

“Yeah,” Cora sighed.

 

“A _girl_. Like, a living breathing, functioning _girl_.”

 

“Her name is Janet. Or Jane. Something J.”

 

“At the creepy, decrepit, abandoned _loft_? The one with the exposed brick walls and pipes leaking all over the floor? You mean an actual girl went home with him _there_? I have a police scanner in my sock drawer; I haven’t heard any 911 calls from that area of town.”

 

“She _knows_ ,” Cora didn’t exactly snap but she glowered at him, squirming to get more comfortable on the bed. “About us. Derek didn’t tell me how but he kicked me out for reasons I’m uncomfortable thinking about.”

 

Stiles hadn’t been lying before when he was speaking with Scott. He was well aware that on a scale of 1 to 10, one being the shriveled baby Voldemort in the eighth movie and 10 being Chris Pine in a wet suit, Derek was a 12 and a half. Stiles was in fact much too aware of Derek’s unnatural state of molten hotness, in several ways and several positions both burned in his memory and brought up unheeded in his dreams. It was just-

 

Derek. Had a _girl_. In the _loft_.

 

Stiles had thought for sure the loft would be a clear deterrent for most intelligent people, no matter how distracted they were by Derek’s physical attributes. It was unbelievable but pretty much exactly the way the universe like to screw him over. Derek lived in a creepy loft and still got a girl. Stiles had a comfortable bed with a quiet, empty house and he couldn’t even get his own right hand. He sighed. “So, Derek has a girl in the loft.”

 

 _“_ _Yes_!” Cora said emphatically. “Girl. Loft. Noises and smells I never want to hear from my brother. Can we move on?”

 

“But why did you come _here_?”

 

Cora fell silent again then flipped onto her side so she was facing Stiles. “Where else should I go?”

 

Well, she had a point. He remembered Lydia’s offer from that morning and relayed it to Cora who just tilted her head curiously as she thought about it. “Really? But I thought she was friends with the Argent girl.”

 

“I’m friends with the Argent girl,” Stiles rolled his eyes. “We’re all friends with the Argent girl. And you’d better be too if you want to fit in.”

 

“I stopped by there before here, actually,” she studied her nails. “Isaac went over and I thought I’d tag along, just make sure things were okay but—“ she looked up at him curiously. “Why weren’t you there?”

 

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Me? Invited to the popular kid’s party? Yeah, right. Wait- so you met them?” For all Cora was short tempered and scathing she did seem to have a healthy survival instinct. It was better than Scott’s at any rate. “How did they look?”

 

Cora raised an eyebrow. “Like—What?” She smirked suddenly. “You mean were they hot? What, you getting lonely?”

 

“No,” Stiles huffed. “I mean did they seem dangerous.”

 

Cora shifted her eyes away from him, something unreadable flashing over her face. “I think they’re trustworthy.”

 

Stiles stared at her for a moment. “Oh my God. You didn’t go with Isaac. You really just followed him, didn’t you? Didn’t he notice?”

 

“Of course not.” She snorted then frowned. “Scott didn’t notice me either which is a little worrying. Isn’t Derek supposed to be training them?”

 

“Truer words have never been spoken.”

 

          Cora had poked and prodded around the room before but she was a restless person by nature and had already started to go over his books and games again, running her fingers over the spines until she rested on one title. “What’s this?”

 

“Call of Duty. Do you play?”

 

She frowned. “Is that like Call of the Wild? Is it some kind of wolf joke?”

 

“No,” Stiles frowned. “Come on, I’m going to teach you. Have you had dinner?”

 

It was pretty obvious that Cora had not wasted hours playing video games where she had misspent her youth because she held the controller like a grenade. However, once she got the hang of basic controls she relaxed and caught on easily. It was weird playing with someone other than Scott because Stiles was used to being able to predict his every move. Cora was smart, she understood where to stand and she had pretty decent aim. They moved to the mission quickly and by the third one she was nearly as quick as Stiles was when they were caught under enemy fire.

 

“ _Punta madre_ ,” she cursed under her breath when she took a shot before taking the guy on.

 

By the time Derek was knocking at the two they were so engrossed Cora barely grunted a greeting at him. Stiles saw him staring at the splintered wood on the frame.

 

“Your trail was cold.”

 

“You did kick me out a while ago.” Cora didn’t look up from her game. Stiles paused it.

 

Stiles knew most of Derek’s expressions. Most of the time they were terrifying and were meant to be covered by the shadows of whatever dark corner Derek had decided to lurk. This expression, however, fell somewhere on the scale between uncomfortable and confused. “I gave you money. I thought you were going to go to a mall.”

 

Cora gave him a matching expression. “A mall?”

 

“I just thought—” Derek’s expression twisted like the words were painful. “I mean, you don’t have many things. I thought you could get… things.” Cora raised an eyebrow at him, clearly amused at his discomfort now.

 

“Wait, you had cash? I had to dip into my gas money for that pizza,” Stiles grumbled.

 

“Come on, let’s go. We can to IHOP again or something.” Cora perked up a bit and Stiles was suddenly insanely curious to watch the two be brother and sister rather than pack. But when he tried to subtly reach for his car keys, Derek pinned him with a glare. “You’re not invited.”

 

“Is your new girlfriend joining us?” Cora said quickly. “Because if she is, I think Stiles could—“

 

“She’s gone,” Derek’s eyes flashed. “Isaac is still out, we need to go pick him up. I’ll be in the car. Hurry up.”

 

“Wait!” Stiles suddenly remembered something. Cora paused one foot half way out the window. “I know I said you can go to Lydia’s too but, if you need to,” he gestured around the room. “My window lock is broken so feel free.”

 

She stared at him, her expression unreadable. He paused, watching something settle over her face like a wave.

 

“Thanks.”

 

“Just text, okay?” he sighed. “And I won’t try to blast you in the face with lighter fluid.”

 

***

 

And just like that, Stiles felt like the loops and snags were finally starting to close. Cora started to go over to Lydia’s as well, if the occasional perfume and sparkle nail polish were anything to go by. Cora had flushed when Stiles saw it and she muttered about how it didn’t matter because all she needed to do was shift for it to come off but Stiles knew a bonding tactic when he saw one. It was good to have the wild child somewhat looked after.

 

Sometimes she came over cheerful and playful, other times she didn’t say much, just curled up on his bed while he sat at his desk and showed her how Facebook worked. Stiles didn’t think too much about it until his father asked one night over dinner what Cora’s parents did for a living.

 

Stiles choked a little on a carrot and had to drain half his glass while his father looked on bemused. “What- I mean, why would you ask that? What does it matter what they do?”

 

The sheriff could weld an air of innocence like a surgical tool if he wanted and Stiles realized bitterly that he had somehow been whittled into a dangerous corner. “I was just wondering if her parents were okay with this. With the two of you hanging out so much here. Alone.”

 

“There’s no two of us.”

 

The sheriff flicked a piece of carrot off his wrist that Stiles had spat out in his outburst. “You know, son. I did get elected into my job for a reason. And it’s not like you two aren’t being obvious about it. Multiple study dates, a sharp increase to our take out budget. Cute girl,” he paused then gestured with his fork, “And, well, you’re a healthy boy I suppose.”

 

“Thanks,” Stiles said sourly. “But Cora and I are just friends. She’s going through a rough patch, alright? I’m just being friendly.”

 

“Is it something I should know about?”

 

Stiles made sure to meet his father’s eyes and cross his fingers under the table before replying, “Nothing that requires police intervention.”

 

Stiles hated how well he had gotten at lying but it was a necessity. His father held his gaze like he was trying to reach in and dig past Stiles’s words but sighed, frustrated, and stabbed at his chicken breast. Stiles uncrossed his fingers but it didn’t stop the heavy clench in his stomach. “Fine. But you keep that door open.”

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Stiles reached for his glass again.

 

“And I put some condoms in the hall bathroom, just in case.”

 

This time the sheriff swore as he mopped the spray of water off his face but, honestly, Stiles thought he should have known that was coming.

 

***

 

Cora craned her neck to look over Stiles’s elbow. He frowned and tried to angle his phone so she couldn’t see but she just shifted behind his back and over his other shoulder. “What-- can’t a guy get some privacy?”

 

“How do you do those smile faces?”

 

“It’s called an emoticon and if you had a phone from this decade you could use them as well,” Stiles hit send and stuffed the phone back into his jacket pocket. It was cold outside like it had been for a week now. It was too cold, in fact, for Stiles to be sitting outside on the benches of the school but Cora had been lurking in the woods by the lacrosse field. He had seen her during English and had nearly fallen out of his chair, much to the amusement of Lydia. He had tried to ignore her but there were only so many times he could see her unblinking stare from the school window without having traumatic flashbacks.  

 

“Derek gave me this phone,” she pulled out the black flip phone and glared at it like it was the phone’s fault her brother was just one microchip shy of being stuck in the analog age. “I want one like yours.”

 

“Good luck, sister,” Stiles skimmed the reply from Lydia. She had sent him a scathing message about how he had sent her a whole book in a completely different language and she would get to it when she got to it. And no, she couldn’t translate pages that had been all but destroyed. Then she called Stiles a name he rather wouldn’t repeat. “I only have a smart phone because my dad won’t let me out of the house without a GPS tracker anymore.”

 

“Peter has one like that.”

 

“You should try for a family plan,” Stiles shrugged. “Is that why you asked me out here? To ask about my carrier service?”

 

“I do need help with my phone,” she said. “I want to text without Derek knowing about it.”

 

Stiles raised an eyebrow. “Is Derek nanny-cam-ing your phone?”

 

Cora looked confused. “He’s nosy about it, yeah.”

 

“And you’re texting people you don’t want him to know about?” Stiles frowned. Cora was still a mystery to them. Derek wasn’t exactly known for his good judgment but if he thought his sister was worth spying on then, their budding friendship aside, Stiles wanted to keep ahead of another hoodwink a la Peter. “Who the hell do you know besides me?”

 

“I don’t just talk to you,” she said evasively. “I’ve got Lydia. And Allison messages me sometimes, about how I’m settling in.” Cora shrugged. “It’s nice. But whenever you guys send a message he’s always over my shoulder and checking everything. I just want some privacy.”

 

Stiles hesitated. It wasn’t _unreasonable_. After all, some of the random messages she sent through the day were about how frustrated she was with her brother and included some non-PG words in both English and not. He knew how bad it had been for Allison when her family had been policing her phone and though it wasn’t the same scale Stiles knew how to be a good go between. There was something Cora wasn’t telling him but it didn’t feel like she was trying to manipulate him too much; his gut was screaming curiosity not danger. She held his eyes, not quite pleading or threatening but there was a sort of quiet desperation and he knew if he didn’t help her she was just going to find another way and then Stiles wouldn’t have any idea of what was going on. At least this way he knew and if things blew up later on then he wouldn’t be totally in the dark.

 

“I can get you a phone,” he relented and there was a hint of relief in her eyes. “The flashier ones are expensive though. But anything is probably better than that one.”

 

“Thanks,” she said quietly. “I mean it. Here,” she reached into her pants pocket and Stiles jumped up in surprise when she pulled out a large wad of cash. He shoved it away when she held it out to him and glanced around quickly to make sure no one else had decided to come out and enjoy the brisk air. “What’s wrong?”

 

“I’ll give you a receipt, okay? Just don’t go flashing all that around where anyone can see it. Beacon Hills is quiet but you never know.”

 

She huffed put complied and put it back. “I think I can take out the guys around here.”

 

“Yeah, but I can’t so let’s not tempt them, alright? Is that the money Derek gave you?”

 

This time it was her who hesitated before saying, “No. I have my own resources.”

 

Stile was dying to ask but lunch was drawing to a close and he was already on dangerous ground with his fifth period teacher. “I’ll get it for you by tomorrow. Meet me here, same time, okay?”

 

She nodded and stood to leave. Stiles waited until after she was gone before slinking back into the school. As he suspected, Scott was lingering by the door with an anxious expression.

 

“What the hell, Stiles? Are you and Cora actually…” Scott trailed off meaningfully.

 

“Strictly business,” Stiles wrapped an arm around Scott’s shoulder and steered him down the hall. “You didn’t tell me your not-girlfriend was getting all buddy-buddy with our resident teenage Hale.”

 

Scott looked guilty but then frowned. “ _You_ didn’t tell _me_ that _you_ ’re getting buddy-buddy with her either.”

 

“I was keeping an eye on her and Derek to make sure they didn’t kill each other before the Alpha pack gets a chance,” Stiles said. He paused and gave Scott a hard look. “Kind of like a recon mission.”

 

“Fine,” Scott rolled his eyes. “I guess it’s better than not knowing what she’s doing all the time.”

 

“Exactly,” he patted Scott on the chest. “Good ol’recon. Which reminds me, how are things are at the Argent front?”

 

“Fine,” Scott sounded almost as evasive as Cora. Stiles drew back a little so he could study Scott’s face but the other boy just turned pink on his ears. “Just great, actually.”

 

“Scott.”

 

          But instead of answering he just looked mournfully down the hall. Stiles followed his gaze and then realized suddenly what was wrong. He didn’t need to be a werewolf to read the body language between Allison and Isaac at the end of the wall. There was something in the way Isaac was bracing one arm on the locker next to Allison’s open one. She was smiling, easy, with the same playful gleam in her eye she used to get with Scott. Isaac was the same, smiling like he was playing a game instead of chatting with a friend. As Stiles watched, Isaac flicked his eyes up, looked at Scott and smirked.

 

          Up until Isaac had become a werewolf, Stiles had barely noticed the guy. They played lacrosse together, badly if Coach had anything to say about it. It had been Stiles’s infamously bad idea to try out for lacrosse that year. He had wanted fame, popularity and Lydia Martin to notice him. Scott had tagged along. Stiles hadn’t known Isaac’s motivations for joining since he remembered Isaac sweating and wincing his way through try outs just as much as Stiles had. But now he realized it had probably been the same. He understood it, the need to be liked and accepted. From what he had gleamed, Isaac’s only friend had been Matt and Matt had been psychotic. Clearly Isaac had had the good sense to try and branch out from that.

 

          But as much as he understood the desire to be desired his loyalty lay with Scott and Scott alone. It wasn’t okay for a guy to hit on another guy’s ex so bluntly and Stiles felt himself moving down the hall. Before he could make it a few steps, Scott pulled him to a hard stop.

 

          “What are you going to do?” Scott tugged Stiles back along the lockers and out of the way of general traffic. Stiles tore his eyes away from the couple, still angry.

 

          “Dude, that’s not cool,” Stiles said, gesturing. “We basically saved his life and he steals the girl. You deserve better than that!” His voice was raised and several people close to them were sneaking glances out of the corner of their eyes.

 

          “Stiles, she’s not something that can be stolen,” Scott sighed. “It’s fine,” he added but kept a hand flat against Stiles’s shoulder to keep him still. He leaned in close. “They’re happy. I want them to be happy.”

 

          Scott had always been the better half of the two of them. Stiles let the warmth and firmness of Scott’s hand steady him. He relaxed slowly before gripping Scott’s wrist in a silent reassuring gesture. “He’s still a jackass.”

 

          “Yeah, maybe,” Scott agreed with a laugh. “But I can’t exactly blame him. Or her.” He looked down the hall again and frowned. “Though I wish they weren’t using me to distract Johan and Ria so they can sneak off together.”

 

          “Jackass,” Stiles repeated and glared at them, shrugging off Scott’s hand but staying where he was.

 

          “Johan is pretty mysterious but Ria’s teaching me German,” Scott said. “Listen: _Du bist ein Dummkopf_.”

 

          The locker next to them had been open and at that it slammed shut, making them both jump.

 

          “You’re an idiot,” Lydia rolled her eyes. “You’re both idiots and you need to keep your voices down.”

 

          “Hey,” Stiles protested with a frown. “There’s no need for name calling.”

 

          “People are staring,” she hissed and when Stiles glanced up several people looked suddenly overly busy with the contents of their locker. He spotted that girl from English class, this time with a friend, huddled by the water fountain with wide eyes staring at them. He grinned, trying to casually wave, but Lydia yanked his hand down. “I see you two still haven’t heard about personal space either.”

 

          It was true, Scott hadn’t moved away from where he had been gently bracing Stiles against the locker but that was hardly unusual. He made a face at Lydia who huffed impatiently.

 

          “Fine. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” She turned on her heel. The two girls by the fountain hid their faces in their books as she strode past them.

 

          “Dude, warn us about what?”

 

          Stiles slipped his arm over Scott’s shoulders and tugged him close. “Don’t worry about it, buddy. I think she’s just jealous Isaac is stealing her girlfriend too.”

 

          “At least I’ll always have you, right?”

 

          “That’s right. Don’t worry, I’ll always love you.” Stiles steered them down the hall. He glanced back, frowning as one of the girls by the fountain burst into tears. “Dude, is it just me or is Lydia is kind of turning into a bully?”

         

***

 

If there was one survival tip Stiles would give to new residents of Beacon Hills it was this: always gas up your car in town. The one on the city limit might seem like a good idea but it was a complete and utter farce. Bad things happened there, only bad, never good, and he was a local. He had no excuse. He should have known better than to be pulled into that honey trap coupon for 5 cents off per gallon.

 

He had spent too much time in his life being grabbed, the feeling of his feet being yanked out from under him all too familiar as strong arms pinned his arms to his side and a cloth bag dropped over his head. It smelt strong, like lilac or some kind of flower and he coughed as it made his eyes water. Less than stumbling, he felt like he was being dragged back from the pump to lee of the building where he was pretty sure passing cars couldn’t see him.

 

There was more than one person. He had heard multiple doors opening and closing when the van had pulled up behind him. He wished he had been more observant, he was the son of the sheriff for crying out loud, he knew all about constant vigilance and taking in details. But. Five cents off per gallon. It had been pretty exciting.

 

They must be dragging him into the trees because the ground became moist from the rotting pine needles. They were only barely in the grove, though, when the bag was yanked over his head and the strong arms that had been holding him shoved him, sending him heels over ass when he tripped on a root. The bushes behind him were too dense to make a run for it but he pressed back, feeling the sharp needles and branches scratching at the back his head and face as he turned to face his attackers.

 

“You’re Stiles, yeah?” the guy on the right couldn’t have been older than Stiles himself but he was definitely bigger. He had dark hair curling over his ears and there was a matching female counterpart standing next to him, her arms crossed and a twisted, annoyed expression on her face. Stiles didn’t answer, instead taking the time to get to his feet and face death head on.

 

The girl turned to the boy and said something briskly but too quickly for Stiles to catch. The boy nodded and cleared his throat before repeating, “Stiles, yeah?”

 

German: his accent was pretty distinct. He frowned, suddenly noticing sharp angles on their jaws and faces, the same wild curls. “You’re Allison’s cousins, aren’t you?”

 

The boy shifted uncomfortably. “We know your car.”

 

“And you thought that was enough evidence for you to brutally kidnap me?” Stiles said disbelievingly. “There’s more than one blue jeep in the world, what if you have kidnapped someone else?” he paused. “Wait, why the hell did you kidnap me in the first place?”

 

Instead of answering, the boy thrust a book at him. “Read this.”

 

Curiosity make Stiles opened it quickly, keeping a wary eye on the wonder twins. It had a dark wooden cover with etchings carved into it. The handwriting was scrawling with no margins to speak off and the ink just wound its way off the page but it was no language he knew. He tried to hand it back. “Dude, not to be all Republican, but this is America. We speak American.”

 

The girl said something to him, contempt clear though he didn’t understand a word and then she turned on her heel, quickly moving back towards the light of the gas station. The boy shrugged, a pitiful apology for sorry-we-nearly-made-you-shit-your-pants-with-the-whole-kidnapping-thing, and turned to follow her.

 

Stiles was left, then, bleeding slightly from a dozen scratchy cuts, holding another mystery book, wondering just why the hell Scott was so depressed he couldn’t join in on the Argent family fun.

 

When he got back to his car the van was gone and the pump that had been in his gas tank was reattached to the stand. His door had been closed too and he could see movement of someone hunched over in the passenger side. He approached his jeep carefully. Getting jumped by the Argents was a town tradition at this point but he didn’t want to ruin his evening by dying in a car-jack gone wrong. However, before he could open his door, Cora sat up from where she had been fiddling with his radio and gave him a quick wave.

 

“Cora,” he yanked open his door. “What the hell are you doing?”

 

“There’s terrible reception out here.”

 

“No,” Stiles scrambled for the keys she had put in the ignition and yanked them out, killing the static. “You don’t get to be mysterious right now.”

 

“They needed to get that book to you,” she sounded almost guilty.

 

“How the hell do you even know them?”

 

“I told you, I know more people than you think,” her eyes were shifty and Stiles was too angry to just ignore it. This was exactly what he had been trying to avoid. Keep an eye on Cora meant keeping an eye on Derek, it didn’t mean kidnapping or mysterious book drop offs or unwittingly participating in some kind of German terrorism.

 

 “And what, you couldn’t just give it to me yourself?” Stiles could feel the residue of adrenaline making his hands shake and he hoped Cora could see that and feel guilty. “I thought they were the Alpha pack. I thought I was going to _die_!”

 

“I can’t touch the book,” she wiggled her hands. “Werewolf.”

 

“That’s convenient.”

 

“They had to make it look realistic.”

 

Stiles knew it was a bad idea to have grown his hair out. If he still had his buzz cut he wouldn’t be tempted to rip it out by the roots. “ _Handing it to me is pretty fucking realistic.”_

 

“Get in the car,” she said. “I’ve already paid for your gas.”

 

Stiles had driven in a lot of different states: panicked with Derek dying next to him; terrified with a half transformed, out of controlled Scott; and quietly freaking out with Jackson slipping in and out of consciousness in the back seat. This was the angriest he had ever peeled out of a parking spot though and he felt a little vindictive happiness when Cora actually reached for her seatbelt.

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

“Great! Wonderful! That is so freaking helpful right now.”

 

Cora gripped the side of the car door and Stiles relented by easing off the gas petal. “I promise I’ll explain everything. But no one can know you have that book, especially the Hunters.”

 

“So the family approved kidnapping but not book lending,” Stiles gritted his teeth. “Remind me never to go to Germany. The libraries must be off the wall.”

 

“They were against the whole plan too,” Cora said then added, “Well, Johan was.”

 

Stiles gripped the steering wheel, grateful for the long, dark drive back into town. Unless Cora felt like bailing out of the moving car he was going to get some answers. “Back up. From the beginning. How the hell do you know Hansel and Gretel?”

 

“Johan and Ria,” she corrected. “I told you, I followed Isaac that one time.”

 

“Great. I’m so happy your stalking has paid off for you. So freaking happy.” He grounded his teeth in frustration. “I thought they didn’t have anything to do with the Hunter side of the family.”

 

“That’s the problem,” Cora’s voice was calm, like he usually was when she was upset and wasn’t this just a goddamn Kodiak moment, the student becoming the sensei. Fucking wax on, wax off. “They don’t want to be hunters.”

 

“You see,” Stiles gritted his teeth. “You say that but they were pretty proficient with that hooded kidnap. I’m not sure I would take them at their word.”

 

“They were sent here to spy on Allison’s father. They volunteered actually, they wanted to escape and they thought Mr. Argent could help them. He is, he wants to help, but there have been some… problems.”

 

“What?” Stiles feigned outrage. “Problems? From that family? Never.”

 

She glanced at him frustrated. “We’ve been doing some small things, sending some real some false information, some small interrogations,” she looked at his sheepishly. “But only so they don’t get suspicious, but nothing besides a few bumps and bruises.”

 

“Oh, well, I’m glad you have a moral line when it comes to threatening innocent people’s lives. Did they learn that right after Count Dracula taught them about the Third Reich?”

 

“I feel like you’re being offensive to someone,” Cora said.

 

“It’s a side effect of pure terror.”

 

“Johan said it’s taking too long,” Cora had decided to ignore him. “The family is getting suspicious.”

 

“Well yeah,” Stiles rolled his eyes. “They sent two teens to take down Chris Argent. You’ve met the man before, right? I’m pretty sure if he wanted, he could take out Freddy, Darth Vader and Voldemort and still fit in time to stake the Cullens. What the hell did they think the next genereation Inglorious Bastard rejects could do?”

 

“You know I hate it when you use references I don’t get,” she pressed her lips together, annoyed. “Johan thinks the family is going to try and hurry things up by putting a curse on him.”

 

“On Johan?”

 

“No, on Mr. Argent,” Cora said. “And you know how they cure people with curses.”

 

Stiles suddenly remembered Allison’s mother grimly. He hadn’t liked Mrs. Argent every time he had seen her. After all the last time she had crossed his path she had tried to viciously murder Scott. However, killing her for being a werewolf instead of for being messed up evil seemed perversely wrong. It was like putting down a vicious, rabid bear for stealing apples off of trees. He could understand the two teens for wanting to run away from that kind of logic but it didn’t mean he could be cool with the whole sack-over-head incident.

 

“They’re trying to prevent it from happening,” Cora said.

 

Stiles could feel one throbbing vein. “And the curse is in the book?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“What did Allison’s dad say?”

 

Cora hesitated. “Well, the thing is, they haven’t told him.”

 

 “I’m glad you have such confidence in me. But I’m the Muggle to Allison’s dad’s Hermione in this case,” he said deliberately to piss her off.

 

Cora seemed to be collecting her thoughts before she spoke. “You do know what happened with Allison’s mom right?”

 

“Yeah, they killed her for being a werewolf instead of just, you know, being normal people and dealing with it.” He let out a high, stressed laugh. “Normal people.”

 

“She killed herself, Stiles.”

 

Alright, that Stiles hadn’t known. He let the car go a few dozen feet before replying. “I thought the suicide note was a cover up.”

 

Cora shook her head. “Johan and Ria had an older brother. When they were just training, there was an accident and their brother was exposed to something, some kind of plant. He might have been okay, they didn’t really know, but instead of waiting to see their brother just killed himself. Right in front of them. Just in case.”

 

“That’s insane.”

 

“It is,” she agreed grimly. “They’re afraid if they tell Argent he’ll just try to remove himself from the situation,” she paused and then dragged a finger across her neck. “Permanently.”

 

“Mr. Argent isn’t like that,” Stiles tried to argue. “You should tell him. He’s the black sheep of the family, he can be kind of reasonable sometimes.”

 

“Stiles, they’re just trying to protect him from himself.”

 

“How fucking noble.” He glanced over at her. “So today, this was just a big show for the cameras?”

 

“Yes,” she sighed. “Exactly.’

 

“Because you can’t just hand me the book and they don’t want anyone else knowing what they’re trying to do?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Because they want me, this kid they’ve never met, to research for a possible curse because they’re afraid their distant uncle, who is trying to help them escape from the worst mafia motif ever, is going to kill himself just to eliminate the possibility of being cursed in the first place.”

 

“Right.”

 

“So, naturally, they went to you, for help.”

 

“Yeah,” she was smiling now, her body relaxing. “You understand.”

 

He jerked the car hard, sending Cora’s head smashing into the window hard enough for the glass to crack. A car was somewhere behind him because he heard an angry honk and quickly settled back on the road. Cora hissed in pain, pulling her hand away from her temple with blood on it and she gave him a dark look as the wound healed in a matter of seconds.

 

“Wanna try that line again?” he couldn’t stop from shouting. “You really don’t expect me to believe they’d just blindly trust a _werewolf_?”

 

She was glaring at him but he had obviously caught on whatever it was she was holding back. She took in the blood on her fingers, looking at it slowly before fixing him with a murderous look. “I may… I may have met them before.”

 

Stiles concentrated on the pavement beneath the tires for a minute. “And you never mentioned this before because?”

 

“The night of the fire,” she was gritting her teeth as she spoke like it was painful and Stiles could barely hear. “I had some help escaping.”

 

“They helped you? How? Why? They couldn’t have been more than kids themselves.”

 

“Their family was here, in Beacon Hill, with the Argents.” He could hear her claws starting to worry the upholstery of the Jeep. “Look, just, we have history. Let’s leave it at that.”

 

Stiles sighed, frustrated, because this whole shrouded in secrecy lifestyle was starting to grind his last nerves. Not for the first time he envied his father for being able to press thing like ‘obstruction of justice’ and bare bulb interrogation room techniques on criminals. It would be nice if he had some kind of universal leverage like peace, justice and threats of incarceration on his side to make people tell him the truth. New strategy time. He forced his hands to relax on the wheel.

 

“Fine. Okay, I get it. They know you, and all that. Did you really have to keep that from me? It’s not like you’re sleeping with the guy.”

 

There was a sharp rip as Cora’s claws dug right through the upholstery of the jeep and through to the metal frame. He winced – it would be hard to explain the window and the upholstery to his dad. Then, the Jeep swerved again, this time unintentionally, as he gaped at her. “You’re totally sleeping with him!”

 

“Don’t tell Derek.”

 

There had been something more to that burner phone, something much more. He wished he could build a time machine to go back and kick Past Stiles in the head.

 

“Stiles.” Her voice, usually steady, cracked a little. “He won’t understand this.”

 

“You were the one defending him,” Stiles said quickly. “Before, remember? You said he wouldn’t kick you out.”

 

“Trust me,” she twisted the ruined upholstery in her fingers. “A Hale dating an Argent— I know enough to know that’s not going to be forgivable.”

 

“Regular freaking Romeo and Juliet,” Stiles muttered bitterly. “I didn’t sign on to help cover your forbidden teenage lust. I didn’t sign on _at all_.”

 

“It’s not just lust,” she shot back. “Please.”

 

“Yeah, yeah,” he sighed. “I won’t tell Derek.”

 

She slumped against her seatbelt. “Thanks.”

 

“Just, don’t kidnap me next time without telling me. All I could think about was my dad and how he would handle it if I died. I don’t like to see that part of my brain. Any part of my brain.”

 

          “We had to make it look real.”

 

“If real meant giving me a heart attack than, yeah, sure. You succeeded.” Stiles sighed and took one hand off the wheel to run over his head face, trying to push the adrenaline to the back. They were on a long stretch of highway, well outside of the city limits. He turned on his blinkers as they came up to a side road and used it to turn around. Once they were on their way back, he glanced to where she was silently pushing the padding of ruined passenger seat back into place.

 

“Two flaws,” Stiles held up a finger. “I still don’t speak whatever language this is in.” He jerked the second one up. “Do you even have a clue as to what the curse is?”

 

“No,” she admitted.

 

“I guess I can pass the book to Lydia without her telling her what to look for. But she’s going to be pissed.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

“I hope this Johan guy is good in bed.”

 

“Stiles. I mean it.”

 

“Just, tell _me_ things, okay?” Stiles said. “I mean, not those things but, yeah. Things.”

 

“I will,” she said quickly. “I promise, no more surprises.”

 

***

 

“Here.”

 

The bag was heavy and something metal and hard almost knocked Stiles in the junk. Instead, it hit his thigh hard enough to bruise so he shoved it to the bench, squinting up until Derek shifted and blocked the sunlight with a radiant halo around his head. Stiles scowled. He knew Derek needed space. Loss wasn’t something anyone dealt with well but losing Boyd had been particularly devastating. But there was grieving and then there was leaving your phone behind and disappearing when a pack of werewolves were hunting down you and your loved ones.

 

“Thanks. I always look forward to being assaulted by older men during lacrosse practice.”

 

“I would have thought if you went to one you would expect the other,” Derek said dryly which made Stiles irritated. He nodded at the bag. “It’s some of Cora’s things.”

 

“What does she have in here, a broadsword?” The canvas bag’s buckles were open so Stiles glanced through quickly. “No, wait, just a metal bat. Why the hell does Cora have a metal bat and- God, Derek, there’s girl things in here I’m not supposed to be looking at!”

 

“I’m sure it’s nothing you haven’t seen,” Derek almost sneered.

 

“You know, ever since your sister came to town, you people have a lot of faith in my sexual prowess.” Stiles snapped the bag closed. As cool as Cora could act sometimes, he didn’t want to flash her underwear around public spaces, despite what her brother considered appropriate.

 

Derek was strangely quiet but cleared his throat. “I don’t think Cora should be around the loft for a few days. I’ve got to sort some things out. She’s going to be upset when I tell her so I’m giving you those for after she storms off. Again.”

 

“Scott and I are not your Bates Hotel, you know.”

 

Derek frowned. “Isn’t that the hotel with the guy who keeps his mother’s dead body somewhere?”

 

“I do have an axe under my mattress,” Stiles said testily. Derek was ignoring him though, looking across the field. Stiles glanced up to where Scott and Isaac were watching them from the far goal. Scott had a firm hold on Isaac’s shoulder but Isaac had a disconcerting desperate look directed at Derek. Stiles sighed frustrated. It would be hard to explain to Finstock why two of Beacon Hills’s infamous people of interest were on friendly terms. He stood up, slinging Cora’s bag over his shoulder and cursing werewolf super strength.

 

Derek wasn’t an inconspicuous person on a good day. Danny must have noticed Scott and Isaac because he was staring too, eyes going from Scott and Isaac to Stiles and Derek with a thoughtful expression, too thoughtful it turned out. Stiles winced as Greenburg tripped and plowed into Danny, knocking the two of them into the goal. Taking advantage of the whistle and confusion, Stiles pushed Derek behind the bleachers and out of sight.

 

 “Why doesn’t Cora stay with Scott? His mom is in the know, and, you know, a girl.”

 

“She can stay wherever the hell she wants,” Derek said. “But I know she’s going to stop by your house and you can give her the bags.”

 

“And why exactly can’t she stay with you?” Stiles hissed. “I thought you guys had worked out a schedule.” Derek looked at him blankly. “You know,” Stiles hinted broadly, jiggling the bag at his feet. “A _sex_ schedule. Your lady friend comes over there, Cora comes over to my house. And Cora—“ Stiles stopped, because he had almost forgotten his promise to secrecy with the whole traumatic aftermath of Boyd’s death.

 

Derek looked at Stiles with a frozen expression. There was a click as he unhinged his jaw to reply. “A sex schedule. Yeah.”

 

When Derek didn’t elaborate further Stiles gestured wildly with his hands as if that would provoke him into speech. “What, was it not working for everyone? She’s your sister and the last of your family, your crazy uncle aside. You can’t just kick her out.”

 

“I’m not kicking her out,” Derek said slowly. “It’s for her protection.”

 

Stiles frowned. “What exactly do you think I can protect her from that you can’t?”

 

“The Alpha Pack is going to come after me,” Derek said in a low voice. “And they proved with Boyd they’ll use whoever is closest to me. I thought it would be better to have some safe distance.”

 

“Distance, right,” Stiles rolled his eyes. “I had you pegged for emotionally constipated but I didn’t actually think you were this big of an asshole. You already kicked out Isaac. You know both of them have abandonment issues the size of the moon.” Derek looked like he wanted to say something but Stiles was too angry to hear it. “I’m going to make sure she knows you’re the one rifling through her delicates, you weirdo.”

 

Stiles came back around to the front, leaving Derek sputtering in the metal cage underbelly and dropped the bag on the bench. Danny was sitting there, wincing and holding his side, but he nodded as Stiles sat next to him.

 

“Who was that?” Danny asked and grimaced as he reached for his water bottle.

 

“Just some guy with boundary issues,” Stiles kicked the bag and cursed as his foot connected solidly with the bat. “Don’t worry about it.”

 

Danny paused before asking again, this time tentatively. “Did you guys mention a, sex schedule?”

 

Stiles felt the blood drain from his face. Isaac and Scott were across the pitch but he saw them trip and knock each other in the head with their lacrosse sticks. Coach’s whistle blew again as he thundered across the pitch, yelling about suicide runs and head traumas and the idiot players who got the former by getting the latter if they didn’t pay the hell attention. “Look, it’s nothing, totally, not s _ex_ schedule! More like _ex_ schedule, if you know what I mean.”

 

“It still sounds like you’re doing something X-rated,” Danny said dryly. “With ex-boyfriends.”

 

“Definitely not an ex- or X-anything,” Stiles resisted the urge to rub away the headache forming behind his eyes.

 

“Stiles, I know we’re not, like, close or anything but if you ever need to talk I’m here.” Stiles looked up to meet Danny’s earnest eyes. “You, or Scott, or Isaac,” he looked to where Coach was forcing everyone though the agility course, hollering about being as fleet as a fox or he was going to light firecrackers under their toes. “Or… your _cousin_.”

 

Shit, this time Stiles did pinch the bridge of his nose. He had forgotten about that. But before he could turn and set Danny straight the other boy reached out carefully to pick up something that had fallen out of Cora’s bag when Stiles had kicked it. “Or, if it’s about something else, I’ve got other friends you can talk to,” Danny held out the baby blue underwear understandingly.

 

This time Scott and Isaac went down in a tumble on the tires, taking out not only Greenburg but also the next two players in front of them. Coach dropped to his knees in anguish and started to rip at the turf.

 

“I’m going to fucking kill Miguel,” Stiles muttered darkly.

 

***

 

Stiles was shoving things around in an attempt to make the living room neater when the doorbell rang at half past six. She had been getting better about using the door—there had been one very near miss with Stiles in a towel – so there was a good chance it was either her or the new vegetarian place Stiles was convincing his father to try out. He answered the door to both and felt obliged to tip the terrified delivery guy extra.

 

“Don’t worry, she’s a pussycat on the inside!” he yelled as the guy’s tires squealed out of the driveway. Cora punched him in the shoulder hard enough to send him into the doorframe. “Oh my God! Your family really just needs to have an anger management specialist on retainer!”

 

“You’re a retainer,” she spat out.

 

His father should be getting off work right about now which probably gave him about half an hour to calm down Cora before she tore a hole through the wall. Or Stiles. He set the food in a safe place and went to find her pacing in front of the TV, her claws extending in and out like a reflex.

 

“He kicked me out,” she sounded angry. “I can’t believe he actually kicked me out.”

 

“I did try to warn you about his impulse control.”

 

Her eyes flashed golden at him and he held his hands up in a mock surrender. “Well then I guess you were right. Congratulations,” she snarled out.

 

 “Why the hell would I be happy about this?” Stiles crossed his arms patiently. “Look, it’s not going to be forever.”

 

Cora took a deep breath, then another and slowed her frantic pace until she was standing still. Stiles could see her muscles corded along her arm, the outline of her back bulging slightly under her tank top as she clenched her fists hard enough that he could see blood welling between her fingers. He had never seen her quite so worked up so he stood nervously, not sure if it was safe to approach or if he should call a prank bomb threat to the department to make his dad work overtime. She took another deep breath, though, closing her eyes as she let it out and slowly unfurled her clawed fingers. A few drops fell to the carpet before the cuts healed and the enlarged nails shrink back to her normal, long tapered fingers.

 

“Sorry,” her voice was huskier than normal. Stiles wondered not for the first time if Laura and Talia had the same, husky tone as Cora, if Cora was all that was left in a long line of strong female leaders, and just how long it would take for her to grow into that. She opened her eyes, forced calm brown, a twitch in her jaw the last sign of her anger.

 

“Well, at least you didn’t break anything this time,” Stiles kept his tone as light as possible.

 

She nodded though he wasn’t sure she had actually heard the words he had said. He took a step in her direction, slowly, until he laid a hand on her shoulder and she relaxed further. “Was that food?”

 

“That’s food for my dad,” Stiles said quickly. “You and I are ordering pizza.”

 

She froze for a second. “Your dad. I forgot about your dad.”

 

“Funny, most people can’t, him being the law and all,” Stiles joked but Cora wasn’t in the mood for it. She reached into the pocket of her sweater and pulled out the phone Stiles had gotten for her a while ago, the phone she hadn’t told Derek about and the phone number she had been using to text Stiles with since the say she got it. “I can—Lydia’s house is usually empty. Or Allison’s—“”

 

“Don’t be stupid,” Stiles said quickly. “You can stay here. Lydia is still working on that book and she gets snappy when people look over her shoulder. And besides, Allison’s is full up with her cousins already.”

 

Cora looked like she was going to stay something else but she changed her mind quickly. “You just want people to see you have a hot girl over.”

 

“Yeah, sure that’s it,” Stiles rolled his eyes. “It’s all about my reputation. Now, do you want green peppers on your half or not?”

 

Stiles took the pull out couch in the den downstairs, Cora ushered firmly but gently into Stiles’s room. Stiles’s father nodded easily to their excuse (Cora’s parents were out on business, she didn’t want to be alone in a new town, she and Stiles had become such good friends, _blah blah blah_ ) then hauled Stiles’s aside by his shirt collar with a rough warning that she was to remain alone in the bedroom for the duration of the night and Stiles had better damn well be able to produce a contact number for her parents ASAP.

 

“She can stay with us,” Scott said as Miss Blake handed back their short answers. “I mean, Isaac is on the couch but he can move into my room and she can take the couch. My mom is fine with it, plus she knows.” Scott stressed the last word.

 

“I told you, it’s fine,” Stiles gritted his teeth. “Derek gave me her stuff and even though he’s being a massive tool right now it’s fine if he wants her with me. And besides, it’s kind of nice having someone around to replace your high scores.”

 

“What about your dad?”

 

That was, of course, the biggest factor but Stiles couldn’t see another way around it. Lydia’s house was the best option, of course. Cora could stay there easily. Lydia was a child of a messy divorce; she basically had free range to do whatever she wanted and a long term female house guest was probably the least scandalous thing she would do. But Stiles hadn’t been exaggerating when he had yelled at Derek; the abandonment issues on that girl would be enough to fill a few theses and have some left over for a few undergrad papers. She was a girl who ran on instinct and gut feelings and her instincts had led her to Stiles.

 

“It’s fine,” Stiles said, trying to ignore the antsy feeling he was got when he thought about how everything could suddenly go south. It was hard though—the pull out couch wasn’t exactly the best night’s sleep. With his pills he could usually manage to concentrate even with only a little sleep but he was finding it harder and harder to focus. The stress must be taking a toll on him.

 

“But what is she going to do all day?”

 

“I. Don’t. Know.”

 

“Mr. Stilinski, Mr. McCall,” Miss Blake frowned at them. “Am I interrupting you or can I start continue?”

 

“Sorry, Miss B,” Stiles tried to smile charmingly. “I’m right up the Congo with you.”

 

He thought it heard a giggle beside him but the girl was focused on her notebook when Stiles looked at her. Miss Blake raised an eyebrow but nodded slowly. “As I was saying, the question is of narration. Who is telling the story and who is the story about? Kurtz? Marlow? Conrad?”

 

As soon as she had moved to the front of the class, Scott leaned over again. “Aren’t you worried extra guests will make your dad find out about us?”

 

This time he was certain he heard a snort but the girl was writing furiously.

 

It must been the jumpiness, the hyper vigilance which seemed aptly named. Paranoia was going to consume him if he didn’t start to ignore signs of evil where there were obviously where none. And when he looked up to where Miss Blake brushed a stray hair and trailed chalk dust over her forehead he relaxed. School. Safe.

 

“She said she has it under control,” Stiles explained, answering Scott’s question when he persisted with it. “The girl is like a bird sometimes, she needs to be free. Don’t worry,” Stiles patted his pocket. “Remember when I gave her the phone? I put an GPS tracker app on it.” Scott looked at him suspiciously. “For safety!”

 

“But the Alpha Pack-“

 

“I’m not her boyfriend,” Stiles said. “Or her brother for that matter. If she said she can take care of herself then I’m going to believe her. Mostly because if I try otherwise I feel like she’s going to snap me in half then floss her teeth with my tendons.”

 

“My door is always open,” Scott said quietly. He leaned over to touch Stiles’s knee in a comforting grip. “I mean, Isaac and Allison are over all the time anyway and we’re all—“ his voice grew a bit lighter. “We’re all pack. Especially you.”

 

  Well, wasn’t that just puppies and rainbows. Stiles couldn’t stop the smile crawling over his face. “Thanks, buddy.”

 

He heard another noise beside him but before he could investigate this time, Lydia poked the back of his head hard with the sharp end of her pencil.

 

“Ow!” he jerked. “Lead poisoning kills, you know.”

 

Lydia just gave him a murderous look and jerked her chin to the side. The girl was so far focused on writing in her notebook there was ink across her nose. Stiles made a face at Lydia. High school bullying seemed so beneath them. He didn’t know what had gotten into her.

 

“And don’t worry about Cora. Derek said just a few days, right?” Stiles turned back to Scott. “My dad is probably going to be fine that. Plus, she hand makes tortillas and she does dishes. I think he’s going to want to swap kids anyway.”

 

***

 

“Honestly, it’ll just be awkward if you went home,” Stiles had said through the bathroom door as she brushed her teeth. He had already changed into his night clothes, actual pants because there was a _girl_ in the house, and one of his favourite shirts he had gotten in a Star Wars promotion. “I mean, what if he’s got some other girl and is mid coitus or something?”

 

There was a gagging sound before Cora poked her head out of the door horrified. “Why the hell would you say that?”

 

“I’m just saying, the last person you want to see mid-coitus is your brother, right?” He leaned against the wall thoughtfully. “Or your uncle. That’s just be gross. And the kind of women he would be with,” Stiles shuttered. “I bet he’s into freaky things. He dated Scott’s mom for, like, five minutes once.”

 

“Please stop talking about my uncle having sex,” Cora’s voice sounded strangled. Stiles grinned, this was what he imagined having a sister would be like. He had no idea why Derek would have given it up. At this point it seemed like Derek had given up. ‘A few days’ had come and went and Stiles found himself constantly try to reassure Cora she was welcome here. It was frustrating because no matter what he said she didn’t seem to believe him but he redirected those feelings to Derek.

 

“You mean you’d rather I talk about Mrs. McCall having sex? Or your brother again?”

 

There was a crack of something breaking.

 

His father gave him a strange look as he passed. Stiles jerked his chin at him, “What’s up, dad?” The sheriff rolled his eyes and poked Stiles hard in the chest.

 

“Stop talking about Mrs. McCall having sex,” his father said sternly. Stiles felt the blood drain from his face. “And don’t forget, you have to pick up groceries after school tomorrow. Good night, Cora!”

 

“Good night, Mr. Stilinski,” Cora’s voice sounded embarrassed through the door. Once his father’s door was closed, Cora opened the door, toothbrush in hand, and for a second Stiles thought his life was going to be over in a very painful, minty impalement. Instead, she grabbed him by the tee shirt and tugged him into the bathroom, making him yelp as the collar ripped. He touched it mournfully. “Are you trying to get me kicked out?”

 

“What?” Stiles’s voice squawked unattractively. “No!”

 

She released him slowly but he kept a wary eye on the toothbrush. “Good.” She fixed him with a stare that would have sent him scrambling under the sink a week ago but now that he had more exposure it merely made his knees tremble.

 

“If you think a little off colour humor is going to get people kicked out of here you obviously haven’t been around for our annual police BBQ,” Stiles said. “Trust me, you’re going to have to do something pretty terrible to get exiled and you’ve got me as your competition. There’s nothing you’ve done that I haven’t.”

 

Cora was strangely quiet but turned back to the sink to rinse off her tooth brush. Stiles worried briefly if his father was going to come out in his stupid stealthy cop-mode and burst in on what was an entirely platonic moment (in the bathroom, behind closed doors, with a stoically unopened box of condoms sitting in plain sight on the sink). “Something pretty terrible, huh?” she echoed him quietly without looking up from the sink.

 

Stiles swallowed, his curiosity clawing like a cat to ask more but he shoved it down for the time being. “Don’t worry. I did successfully manage to harbor Derek for a few days when he was on the run for murder. You’re a lot more compact than him. I bet I could go a week of hiding you in my room without him knowing.”

 

She smiled briefly and reached past him to open the bathroom door. Stiles moved to let her go but she paused and turned before saying a quiet, “Thanks.”

 

“You owe me a new shirt though,” Stiles shot back.

 

Stiles had already puzzled out why Cora wasn’t staying at Lydia’s. That had been easy. But it took a bit longer to figure out why Cora hadn’t mentioned staying with Peter. Of course, you couldn’t pay Stiles enough money to spend an extended amount of time with the other man but Cora seemed to get along with him fine. However, after a while, it started to make sense. It was almost eerie how comfortably Cora fit into the Stilinski routine. It was like she had always been there, shower times, chore duty, and favourite breakfast cereals slotting into spaces Stiles didn’t know existed. Laundry, especially, a chore traditionally avoided by Stilinski men, was constantly being done, even under garments to Stiles’s indignant protests. His father had smothered him with a throw cushion the first time he tried to convince Cora to stop and Stiles couldn’t blame him; for once they both smelled lovely with whatever flower detergent Cora had started to buy.

 

At first the fitting in had seemed almost effortless but there were moments when Cora smiled or laughed at a bad pun his father made about Tony the Tiger that Stiles saw the way Cora seemed to be desperately clinging to those moments of being normal more than was natural. He tried to imagine Peter’s apartment but all he could come up with was some kind of swanky bachelor pad with a lot of chrome and too many mirrors. Not a lot of chance to pretend to be normal for a teenager.

 

Stiles knew how to pretend to have that feeling of normalcy. He had been doing it since his mother had died, and he had seen Scott go through it right after his dad had left. It was painful to do but so much better than the alternative of acknowledging that something wasn’t quite right and that someone was missing.

 

Stiles was pretty sure that whole act of keeping things normal was starting to be detrimental to other things though. In his effort to try and keep his father from acknowledging how long Cora had been staying with them, everything felt like it was being pushed aside. The sacrifices were still happening, faster and scarier but it was like a cat chasing a string. Everything he thought he was getting ahead of the problem something came and jerked it away. He was relying on a dangerous mix of Adderall and caffeine to make it through the day when strange, foggy nightmares made him wake up gasping for breath in a cold sweat.

 

He also blamed the fact he found himself constantly defending his lifestyle habits, his only child status making him unprepared for it.

 

Cora abided by the curfew and rules of the house so much better than he ever did. Dishes were always washed, nothing was left out until it started to grow more stubble than Stiles could manage in a week, and he had even walked in on her vacuuming under the couch. Even her sneaking out somehow to spend time with Johan somewhere slipped by detection. There had been no reason for his father to cause a grievance against her but it didn’t stop him from casting sideway looks at Stiles and backhanded comments on how nice it was to have someone other than a teenage boy around the house.

 

He was pretty sure, in any case, that she was spending her spare time not at school with Johan but she always came home by dinner, too late to just be coming home straight from school (or with Stiles after practice) but too early for his father to think she was getting into trouble with Beacon Hills night life. It helped his father felt the need to make sure they were well informed of when his shifts were Stiles supposed, but the man did make a living out of making patterns and collecting clues so even though Cora had been diligent to not raise suspicions Stiles should have seen it coming.

 

The sheriff had the morning off. Cora was already off for the day, claiming to be hanging out with Allison and her cousin. While Stiles contemplated making a third Pop Tart though it probably would cap out his sugar limit for the day, his father shut his paper with a decisive slap.

 

“Stiles, where the hell is that girl’s family? Is she on the run or something?”

 

Stiles tried for an air of innocence. “What? No, dad, of course not!”

 

“I thought you were just trying to spend more time with your girlfriend but the more I see you two together the more I get the feeling you aren’t even dating.”

 

“Oh, you mean like I’ve been telling you from the beginning?” Stiles said. “I’m just helping her out.”

 

“Define ‘helping’.”

 

“I’m pretty sure Oxford describes it as a selfless, no questions asked action between a people and something any father would be proud of.”

 

“Son.” That was his no-nonsense voice, the voice he used when Scott and Stiles had tried to light fireworks in the basement when they were eight, the voice that he used to make grown criminals shrivel in their seats and forget to ask about lawyers. “If she is in trouble then I’m harbouring a criminal. I barely got my job back after the fiasco last year with the Whitman kid. You told me nothing like that would happen again. Instead, you bring this girl here with no contact information, no parents, has very probably spent the last few years living south of the border if her Spanish is anything to go by—“

 

“She could have learned those words anywhere—“

 

“—there’s not a single Cora registered in your school! Did you really think I wouldn’t check? Drinking, sure I get, you’re a teenager and I thought I could trust you not to be dumb with that fake ID but Stiles. The drug cartel is a whole other ball game.”

 

Okay, Stiles hadn’t been expecting that. “Cora is not part of the _drug cartel_! God, do you even hear yourself?”

 

“Do you hear yourself?” The sun was still shining through the window but Stiles felt pinned down and trapped like he was in an interrogation room. He stood from the chair and started pacing. Last night they had watched _Dark Knight_ and his father docilely eaten unsalted popcorn; there was no warning this morning was going to be an all-out attack. His father must have been sitting on this, lulling Stiles into a sense of security. Stupid, Stiles.

 

The sheriff was watching him, appraising him like he was mapping out possible places a suspect would have weapons hidden under pajamas and that made something in Stiles’s stomach clench painfully.

 

“She’s not—“ Stiles struggled to think of what to tell but his mind was coming up blank, overstressed, overtired and underprepared. “She has some family in town okay? He’s just got some things going on at his apartment and she doesn’t want to be a part of it.”

 

“That’s definitely going to convince me you’re not tangled up in drugs, yeah,” the sheriff said dryly.

 

“It’s not drugs, dad!”

 

“Give me a name, Stiles.”

 

“Monica Lowinski. Alice Copper, Barak Obama.”

 

“ _Her_ name!”

 

This was usually the part where some kind of idea came to him, some kind of life-saving brain worm like using Danny’s break up as an excuse at The Jungle or something witty that made his father throw up his hands in frustration and shove him in the back seat of a patrol car. But for some reason nothing was coming. Stiles stopped pacing.

 

“Her name’s Cora Hale.”

 

That got a reaction. The sheriff sat up straight in his chair. “Cora Hale died in that fire, Stiles.”

 

“Yeah, well, unless an incorporeal being used up all the hot water in the shower this morning, she obviously didn’t. She showed up a while ago and was living with Derek.”

 

“Derek _Hale_? I wouldn’t trust that boy with my toaster let alone a minor!”

 

“Well that’s why she’s here, okay? Derek was being awful—not, that kind of awful, just like sibling rivalry stuff,” Stiles cut off his father quickly. “She needed a place to crash for a while.”

 

“That girl is legally _dead_ , Stiles, she’s an orphan and she’s, what, barely seventeen? There are procedures, paperwork, social workers—“

 

“I know.”

 

“No! You don’t know! What do you think is going to happen to her without any kind of legal documents? Where the hell has she been that this has never come up before? Has Derek been hiding her?”

 

“Dad, come on—“

 

“Don’t ‘come on’ with me, Stiles! This is the kind of thing you come to me for. These are the kinds of things the police are around for! I cannot believe I trusted you when you said I didn’t need to be worried, Jesus, _Stiles_ —“

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

Sometimes Stiles wished his father knew when he was lying just so that he would know when he was telling the truth. But his father was looking at him in a way that he knew meant the man was too angry and disappointed to let the sincerity of his words in. “Derek Hale isn’t a family for that girl. She’s been here for days I haven’t seen hide or hair of him. I don’t care what the hell kind of fight they had but that boy doesn’t even have an apartment according to the city records.”

 

The cold, analytic side of Stiles’s brain made a quick note that his father was keeping tabs on Derek and he should warn the pack. Half a second later he hated himself. “How do you even know that?”

 

His father pinned him with a look. “It’s my job to know where people like him are. You have until Monday to tell her that I know. Then I’m going to start processing the paperwork and contact social services. That girl needs help and not in the way _you_ think is best. She can stay here for now—“ he cut Stiles’s protest off with a raised hand, “—and I’ll try my best but, Stiles. You did this wrong.”

 

***

 

Stiles’s window had been suffering from an identity crisis long before Scott’s fateful bite. Normally, however, it had been Stiles climbing out late at night meet Scott. Usually it was when Stiles heard something on his borrowed (“Stolen,” Scott-Debbie-Downer had scolded him back in junior high but Stiles had chosen not to hear) police scanner or when his father had included him in his brainstorming on a case. Not much had ever happened in Beacon Hill but Stiles had made sure he and Scott got firsthand accounts of every time faux-Wiccans illegally burned fires in the woods, and all the strangely mangled animal corpses.

 

He had to sneak his bike out of the garage. His father had sent him to his room until Cora came back. Though the Jeep had made many stealth late night runs, his father had proven to be much too observant these days. He knew he was going to get caught but at least if he didn’t take the Jeep he would have a bit of a head start and the deputies would have a harder time tracking down a kid in a hoodie on a bike rather than the most conspicuous blue Jeep in all of Beacon Hills.

 

Pedaling all the way to Derek’s loft hadn’t exhausted his anger. In fact, it had only fueled it. He was pissed off, pissed off at his father for doubting him, pissed off that his father had every reason to doubt him, pissed off at Cora for coming back and choosing him as a confidant, pissed off at Peter for fucking biting Scott and getting him into this whole mess, and pissed off at Derek for making all of this his problem. Those thoughts ran through his head, cycling as fast as his wheels and by the time he reached that part of town he was angry enough he was surprised his own eyes weren’t flashing gold.

 

“ _Derek_!” The door slammed on the runners and echoed around the pavement. The proximity alarm was blaring but Derek was nowhere in sight. “Get out here!”

 

“What the—“

 

Stiles so angry it felt like his skin was vibrating and he couldn’t wait for Derek to come all the way down the open staircase. He stalked up it himself, gratified when he saw Derek take a few frantic steps back until they were in the upper part of the loft, his unmade bed shoved in the corner and, thankfully, empty.

 

“She came _back_ for you! She came _back_ and all you do is toss them out like they don’t matter—why the hell did you try so hard to convince Scott to join you when all you do is abandon people when they need you?”

 

Derek had been steadily backing away, his eyes wide as Stiles advanced on him, shoving a finger into his chest though Stiles was pretty sure it was hurting him more than Derek. Derek hit the metal window frame then pressed back against it as Stiles took another step into his space.

 

“I get you’ve got damage but do you really have to destroy people just to make yourself feel better?”

 

“Stiles-“ there was a warning growl in his voice but Stiles wasn’t having it.

 

“I’m sick of your stupid, cryptic attitude! God, do you know what I would do if I could have my family back? You got Peter _and_ Cora. Two people came back for _you_! For _you_ Derek!”

 

“Stiles!” Whatever he said seemed to finally pierce through his shock because Derek shoved him away hard. “What the hell happened? Is Cora okay?”

 

“Of course she’s okay,” Stiles shoved back but Derek didn’t move an inch. “What’s not okay is how you treat her! I can’t tell if it’s because your life story is a Greek tragedy or if you were just born missing the gene that makes you tolerable to other people, but I swear to God if you don’t get off your ass and fix this I’m going to rip your freaking head off!”

 

“Greek what—“

 

When Stiles had first met Derek he had thought the man was creepy. He had dead, blank eyes which, more than the rage and threats, disturbed Stiles. He had thought there had been something wrong in Derek, like he was a sociopath killer on CSI or something without remorse or feelings.

 

But as time went on life had trickled back into Derek like a canister filling up; first anger and rage, then something like desperation. It was like watching a toddler walk, if the toddler wore leather like a fetish and was overly attached to muscle cars. Had been overly attached to muscle cars. But now drove a very dependable SUV. A family car. Stiles squinted at Derek.

 

“Did you—paint in here?” Stile sniffed, the sudden sharp smell making him start. He looked around, the differences of the room sinking in. There was an actual bed, for starters, not just a mattress on the floor. There was a side table, a _lamp_ and the beginnings of a bookshelf on one corner. Curtains on the window were blocking out most of the street and he was pretty sure he had interrupted Derek from reading, if the open book on the bed was anything to go by.

 

“So,” Derek sounded almost defensive. “I’m allowed to paint my own apartment if I want.”

 

It wasn’t Cora nesting. It was _Derek_ and Stiles felt that information bolt through him like lightening.

 

“You miss Cora!”

 

“Of course I do!” Derek flushed, _flushed_. Stiles hadn’t believed the man was capable of that. “She’s my sister, of course I miss her!”

 

“You _want_ her to live here! That’s why you’ve been Martha Stewart-ing the loft!”

 

“No I haven’t,” Derek said quickly but Stiles didn’t need to be a werewolf to know it was a lie.

 

“Why the hell did you throw her out?”

 

“I don’t have to explain anything to you, I’m the Al—“

 

“Alpha-nothing, I’m not in your stupid pack, the only thing growling at me is going to do is employ some Caesar techniques all over your furry ass.” Stiles rocked back on his heels, his epiphany a balm. “First you sexile her for some _girl_ -“

 

“Hey!” Derek did look up then with a frown. “I didn’t – did you say _sexile?_ It was for her protection!”

 

“And what about you? You’re just going to be bait for the Alphas alone?”

 

“I thought she’d be happier with you!”

 

“She only came to my place because she didn’t have anywhere else to go!”

 

“I didn’t think she’d _want_ to be anywhere else,” Derek’s eyes were flashing angrily. “Don’t think I don’t know she’s in your bed every night. You’re welcome, by the way.”

 

“She only came to my house because you forced her there,” Stiles snapped back. “If you want a relationship with her you’ve got to at least try to hold on to her!”

 

“I _was_ holding on to her! She wanted space; this was me, giving her space!” he snapped then turned to glare at the lamp by the bed like it was personally offending him. “You have no idea what it’s like. She’s infuriating!”

 

“She’s your little sister. She’s supposed to be. She wants space but she didn’t want to you just give up on her! Are you allergic to trusting people or something?”

 

“Fine,” Derek said darkly. His eyes were almost glowing in the dimly lit room and his lip curled in distaste. “I guess she trusts you enough for you to be an expert on her.” Stiles felt his tentative patience snap.

 

“Is that what this is about? _My_ relationship with your sister? You’re going to let a little jealously stand in the way of something you want, aren’t you?” Stiles rolled his eyes. “Seriously, How damaged do you have to be to have something, right in front of your face, that you won’t just take it—“

 

Stiles bit Derek’s chin as the man lounged forward. Two strong hands framed his jaw holding him in place as Derek winced but pushed forward, following Stiles as he back pedaled. The last word of his rant ended in a muffled jumble in Derek’s mouth as the man kissed him, harsh, teeth clinking painfully as he tried to slot their mouths together. Stiles shoved Derek, hard, and Derek let go of him quickly, retreating the few steps back to the window frame, both of them panting harshly. 

 

Later, Stiles couldn’t explain exactly why he did what he did next, but one second he was looking at Derek, chest heaving under his maroon V-neck, his eyes wide and white teeth starkly visible in the dimmed room, and the next he wasn’t looking at anything. He pressed Derek against the wall, the room suddenly chilly as their bodies met, hips to torsos flat against each other. Derek had to wrap an arm around his lower back to steady them and Stiles took the opportunity to hitch his knee up, the top of it hitting the wall painfully but that sensation lost as he pressed his dick against the crease of Derek’s hip.

 

Derek groaned, a noise Stiles had never heard before, into his mouth and the vibration made Stiles feel suddenly much too hot. The hand on his back gripped him, hauling him higher and seemingly closer with unsurprising ease while the other gripped the back of his neck and threaded through his hair. Stiles didn’t have a lot of practicing kissing and too soon he felt light headed. He turned his head, gasping as Derek’s teeth raked across his cheek.

 

“Jesus, Christ,” Stiles somehow managed words through it felt like his brain had started to short circuit. He jumped as Derek’s mouth met the junction of his neck and shoulder, stubble scratching at his skin. He made some sort of whimpering sound as Derek dropped the hand from his neck down to his thigh and hauled Stiles completely off the ground, knocking off both their balances so they had to stumble until they hit the bed. Derek landed heavily on Stiles which normally would have caused some pain but his body didn’t seem to be transmitting the usual nerve-to-brain message. Then, Stiles decided he had enough of this stupid oxygen stuff and put his own hands to use to pull Derek’s face back to his own.

 

He couldn’t stop moving, his limbs felt like they were monsters onto themselves and were running down every part of Derek they could touch, gripping when they caught finger holds on belt loops, pockets, and corded muscles. It took only a few seconds for Stiles to realize that the friction two pairs of jeans made could turn disastrous so he quickly caught the rhythm of Derek’s body. It was maddeningly slow and tortuous as Derek tipped his head back, forcing his mouth to stay open as Derek alternated between kissing his neck, jaw then back to his mouth. He laid a bite right under his ear and for a second Stiles felt so dizzy wasn’t sure if his body was going to give out and just pass out in the middle of what seemed to be the best moment of his life.

 

Then, without warning, Derek was gone, scrambling off the bed and leaving Stiles shivering with cold and want.

 

“You have to go.”

 

“What—“

 

“ _Now_!” Derek’s voice thundered, his eyes red and suddenly bulging from his forehead and Stiles threw himself off the bed and out the door before Derek could fully shift.

 

It had to be bad for his health, this rapid turnaround of emotions. He nearly tripped down the stairs, only half realizing he hadn’t even bothered to close the door when he had come in. He made it three blocks away at a panicked run before he remembered he had biked there. He managed to make it to a gap in the buildings before collapsing against the dirty brick wall, sliding down unmindful of whatever black tar was staining the pavement and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes until he saw sparks.

 

What the hell, what the _hell_ —He took a deep breath just to show his body it could still breathe.

 

***

 

He ended up calling Scott who called Allison who got Lydia to swing around the corner half an hour later with her car. All three girls went from laughing at whatever carefree, blissfully ignorant topic they had been talking about to heavy silence as he and his stupid emotional baggage climbed in the back seat next to Cora. He glared at them, alternating between the three sets of wide eyes until Allison tried to gently say, “So, Scott said you spoke with Derek—“

 

“Yeah,” Stiles cut her off sharply. “Sure. I was trying to knock some sense into him but you know how that works out.”

 

“Did he hurt you?” Allison scanned his body quickly from her twisted position in the passenger seat. Stiles flushed, he knew Derek’s hand prints weren’t mapped over his body for the world to see even though he could still feel them in his mind. “What’s wrong with your neck?”

 

Okay, maybe Stiles had underestimated that one. He slapped a hand to where Derek had mouthed at, horror making his eyes wide and he looked over at Cora who matched his expression with sudden clarity. 

 

“It looks like he attacked you with his teeth,” Lydia narrowed her eyes.

 

“He’s always threatening me, with that,” Stiles’s mouth felt dry and he looked helplessly at Cora who was pressing her mouth together and shaking her head in angry disbelief. “Biting out my throat with his teeth, you know, all par for course though I guess I always thought he was all bark no bite, ha ha, look can we just go and forget about this?”

 

“Stiles and Derek,” Allison said, the words hanging in the air like it was the first time she had ever said them together. “I—just, I never thought—“

 

“There’s no Stiles-and-Derek,” Stiles snapped. “Can we go, please? If I had known I was going to be interrogated I would have stayed home with my dad.”

 

“Okay, fine,” Lydia grumbled and turned on her blinker though the street was empty. She kept looking at him in the mirror. “At least this time your walk of shame isn’t from the back of the bleachers.”

 

“It’s not a walk of shame,” he said with as much venom as he could muster but scowled deeper as she must have heard his heart skip a little. Okay, so maybe he was a little ashamed but it wasn’t what she was thinking. At least, not completely. “And how the hell do you know about the bleachers? Nothing happened there either!”

 

By car, the trip back to the quiet suburb took almost no time at all. When Cora and Stiles entered the house, the sheriff looked at them unsurprised from where he had spread out piles of paperwork across the kitchen table. He and Cora exchanged a subdued greeting but he gave Stiles a frosted looked and a subtle jerk of his chin towards the stairs. There was a time limit on how long the sheriff was going to hold off his own interrogation of Cora and Stiles could feel the clock ticking.

 

Cora gave Stiles a startled look and he felt like kicking himself for being so distracted. Of course she was going to notice something was up and of course things were going to rapidly spin out of control if he didn’t get out in front of this mess as quickly as possible. Stiles barely needed to turn towards the stairs before Cora stormed ahead of him in stony panic.

 

He followed Cora up to his room and the second he closed the door she dove for the canvas bag next to the computer. Stiles sat on the bad as she started to ball up her clothes and stuff them in the sack with far too much efficiency.

 

“What are you doing?”

 

“Packing,” she shot back. “You’re supposed to be the smart one.”

 

“I haven’t even told you anything.”

 

“You don’t have to, I can read a room,” she said bitterly. “It’s not the first time I’ve overstayed my welcome and I don’t want to stick around to see what the s _heriff_ of a town can do to make me leave.”

 

“It’s not like that,” Stiles shook his head. “He knows you’re Cora Hale.”

 

She gave him a scathing look. “And he’s just going to let it go?”

 

“I told you keeping it a secret was a bad idea,” Stiles said even though he knew the words weren’t going to change anything. “I haven’t told him anything because I don’t _know_ anything. I don’t know how to lie for you!”

 

“You don’t have to.”

 

“Yes, I do because if I don’t he thinks of these crazy theories on his own! He thinks you’re running drugs for Christ’s sake.”

 

“Well, then, I guess I’m glad no one has to lie.”

 

The words took a minute to sink in. “You—What? Cora, you can’t seriously tell me you came back to run drugs in _Beacon Hill_.”

 

“Of course not,” she said sharply. “I came here to get away from all of that.” She looked up from where she was wrestling her aluminum bat back into her bag. “It’s not something I like to talk about.”

 

“Obviously,” Stiles felt sucker punched. His father’s theory had seemed crazy and farfetched, the first wild thing he would throw out to the wind in their brain storming so they could get it out of the way and find the real truth. He hadn’t expected it to be true but as he thought about it for a second it suddenly didn’t seem so unlikely. Cora was still packing, her face stony and set, and Stiles felt a sudden well of sympathy.

 

“Where are you going to go?”

 

Cora was silent for a minute but then answered without looking up. “South. I probably shouldn’t tell you. You can’t lie to your father if you don’t know.”

 

“Cora-“

 

“You shouldn’t lie to him anymore, Stiles. He’s the only family you have left and you shouldn’t waste it.”

 

“Stop packing,” Stiles said. “I’ll tell him about you, about Derek and Scott and all of it. Then, once he’s calmed down, had some scotch – a lot of scotch—he’ll let you stay.”

 

Cora’s hands faltered but then she shook her head. “There’s no point in staying. I like you, Stiles, and I like your dad. But if Derek doesn’t want me in his pack then I’m not going to hang around like an omega begging for scraps.”

 

“Derek’s pack,” Stiles snorted. “You don’t even know what Derek looks for in his pack. You’re a teenager,” he held up a finger to start counting, “You have a sad sob story, you’re frankly a little psychotic, and, oh yeah, you’re a Hale. Swap the combat gear for leather and Derek would be chaining you in an abandoned train like the rest of them.”

 

“A train?”

 

“Never mind, that’s in the past. Guy’s practically wallpapering that loft for you. My point is that Derek wants you here.”

 

Cora stopped, settling back on her heels and twisting her neck to look at Stiles carefully. She settled her eyes on his neck and he felt his skin heat up. “Did he say that?”

 

“Yes,” Stiles said, forcing the truthfulness into his voice because he knew if he hesitated at all she was going to doubt.

 

“He’s got a piss poor way of showing it.”

 

“Emotional constipation runs in the family,” Stiles said dryly. She glared at him for a minute.

 

“Do you really want to know what happened?”

 

“I really want to know how the hell you managed to hide the drug thing for this whole time,” Stiles shot back.

 

She didn’t say anything but she did set down her bag completely, which Stiles took as a good sign. Her hands were balled in tight fists like she was bracing for a fight but she just turned, facing Stiles with a determined look. “When the fire started,” she almost seemed to speak through her teeth like it was painful, “I was outside. I wasn’t supposed to be but—“ she hesitated. “I was playing with Johan.”

 

Stiles raised his eyebrow. “Like _playing_ with him or—“

 

  “We were a little young for that,” she curled her lip in disgust. “We had met at the park one day but my parents didn’t want me hanging out with him. At the time I thought they were being overprotective because he wasn’t a werewolf and they were worried he would find out but now I realize it was because he was from a Hunter family. He would sneak out though and we would play in the woods.” She grinned a little. “He didn’t speak a word of English but we got along. It was just nice to have someone besides my sisters and cousins to play with. Anyway, we were outside when I smelled smoke. I wanted to go back but it was too late. There was a woman in the woods, laughing. I could hear them screaming, I could smell—“ her voice broke and she swallowed hard. “Johan dragged me away and hid me in a truck at a rest stop somewhere. I remember lying on that truck bed for hours before I fell asleep.”

 

Stiles tried to imagine being that young again and hearing the voices of your family burning when you were just yards away. His stomach churned and he banished those thoughts to the back of his mind as she continued.

 

“When I woke up, nothing smelled or looked like home so I ran, like we were taught to do. I think I was running for a few days when I finally got caught in a leg trap and I was too tired and hungry to open it myself. I woke up in some hunting shack and those guys made me run some more until I must have crossed the border.”

 

“Into Nevada?”

 

“Into Mexico,” she corrected. “That was when I realized everyone must be dead. If they were alive they would have followed me, they would have found me.”

 

She pinned Stiles with a look that would have melted paint off a barn. “I – I had some trouble controlling the shift at first so I did like I was taught and kept out of sight. There were—I mean there are places in the mountains where people don’t go. I did that for a while until I could handle the full moon and then I started drifting between places. Some of them were kind some of them where—“ she trailed off before starting again. “I picked up enough Spanish to get by but I was small and quick and I didn’t care about the danger so I was useful to the people who did. I didn’t _take_ the drugs,” she snarled. “It’s not like it would have done much for me. But,” her voice shook for a minute. “I didn’t do very good things.”

 

If Cora had been a human girl Stiles would have risked getting hit and tried to touch her shoulder or at least give some kind of physical comfort. But Cora had claws and teeth and a temper that lashed out when she was cornered. Still, Greek tragedies had nothing on the Hales it seemed and Stiles suddenly felt he had to do _something_.

 

He stood from the bed so they were at eye level. Slowly, watching her like he was defusing a bomb, he laid a hand on her shoulder. She glared at him and after a few seconds ticked by Stiles took his hand back awkwardly but she looked slightly less tense.

 

“I had things under control but I was in Tijuana running some stuff for a guy when these Americans left behind a newspaper about Derek being arrested. I had to come back to see for myself and then I got caught by the Alphas.”

 

She wasn’t crying but her eyes were red and exhausted. Stiles suddenly felt selfish and extraordinarily stupid for letting the latter half of his Derek excursion trample the real reason for going over there. He wanted to say something but before he could actually get words out, Cora started to duck around him towards the door, holding her bag in one hand.

 

“I’ve got a network down there I can live off of for a while and I’ll call you when I can.”

 

She was still leaving, Stiles realized suddenly, so he moved, ignoring his earlier caution, and grabbed at her wrist. As predicted, her eyes flashed gold (a colour Stiles was suddenly grateful for) but she didn’t try to swipe him.

 

“Like hell you’re leaving after that,” Stiles didn’t know why his voice sounded so thick and rough because he definitely hadn’t been crying either. “Unpack your stuff. I’m making pancakes.”

 

“Your father thinks I’m running drugs,” she said quietly. “And it’s not like he’s exactly wrong.”

 

“My dad is a softy,” Stiles said. “Unpack. I highly doubt he’s going to make this easy on you or me but, trust me. If we sit down and explain everything, well at least the whole _grr_ ,” he bared his teeth and curled his hands into claws which accomplished its goal in Cora’s small smile, “then he’ll find a way for you to stay. I promise.”

 

***

 

Stiles should have known there would be no time to wait for Monday. Things didn’t happen on schedule so making one was just asking for trouble.

 

Cora fell ill so quickly, one minute she had been eating supper with them like normal and the next she seemed to be choking on something before her eyes rolled into the back of her head and she fell from her chair before they could catch her.

 

Peter had shown up, finally, and Allison and Isaac had pieced together the last of the puzzle too late. Stiles and Scott barely made it from the hospital, leaving Derek and Peter in charge of that, but only in time to see Lydia dazed and shaken while tied to a chair and a bloody smear on the titled floor where his father had been.

 

So Derek’s mystery woman was Miss Blake and also the goddamn _darath_ , which was something Stiles had nearly forgotten about, if evil demon druids could be totally forgotten _._ He hadn’t seen the whole Derek-and-Miss Blake thing coming; he hadn’t even known they _knew_ each other.

 

Suddenly all that Stiles thought he knew was turned upside down -- who was going to pretend to be _normal_ with him if his father was gone?

 

For some reason he had thought a wooden bat was really going to work again steely muscles and supernatural body melding. But after, when Derek was digging human fingers into the back of his neck, scolding him frantically, he realized it wasn’t that he had thought it was going to work. It was that the only thing he had to lose was himself and in that desperate moment it hadn’t felt like such a big price.

 

Cora had flat lined on him all alone in that damn ambulance.

 

For a moment he envied her as he forced air into her chest and pumped her heart. She looked for all the world like she was just resting and he was so, so tired. He had a brief moment where it didn’t feel so much like he was breathing air into her and he was trying to take the breathlessness from her body into himself because there might not be anyone left in his like to mourn him, like Peter and Derek and maybe even Johan would for her. But then she _came back_ and Stiles erased that thought from his mind.

 

When Deaton told them it was a part of their soul Stiles didn’t hesitate for a minute. It seemed only fair, a piece to bring his father back or the whole of it without his father there at all.

 

Later, he used something stronger than wood to hold up the roof over everyone’s heads and the world righted itself back on its axis.

 

***

 

After it was over, after he and his father had fought over who showered first (his father won easily. A day tied up in a cellar “did things to a man” and Stiles conceded to the smell), and after he just hung up on the first pizza place he found that hadn’t lost power in the storm, the doorbell rang.

 

Cora’s bat was leaning against the hallway and Stiles hefted it over his shoulder as he went to answer the door, the weight reassuring. Stiles might give up lacrosse after tonight for a new sport.

 

Stiles never realize realized how young Cora looked until she was shadowed by her brother, grimy and hopeful on his porch. She gave him a toothy grin and it hit Stiles that beyond just hearing she was already, he needed to see her upright, breathing and not spewing black tar all over the floor. He dropped the bat with a loud clatter and grabbed her in a tight hug without thinking.

 

She stiffened and he almost let go but then she relaxed, bringing a tentative hand to his shoulder in an approximate squeeze back.

 

“I see you made it out alive.” If Stiles’s voice was a little choked up Cora didn’t mention anything.

 

“Well,” she patted him once, a firm thump that signaled the hug had gone on well long enough. Stiles let go quickly and stepped back, opening the door wider so they could come in.

 

Derek glanced at him with a strained expression before growling, “Where did you find that shirt, a dead rodeo clown?”

 

“Where’s Peter?” Stiles ignored the barb as Cora went straight for the kitchen and collapsed into the chair she had claimed as her during her time there. Stiles took his which left Derek hovering awkwardly before leaning against wall.

 

“Back at his apartment I think,” Cora laid her head on the table looking drained. “He only sticks around if there’s something in it for him.”

 

Derek snorted in agreement. The shower stopped upstairs and Cora straightened quickly. “I’m covered things I don’t know the name of and I can still taste your rank breath in my mouth, that shower’s mine.”

 

“Like hell it is!” Stiles shot out of his chair and they bottlenecked at the base of the stairs. Before Stiles could wedge an elbow in, she shoved him into the wall and he froze as her eyes flashed red. Sensing weakness, she grinned and pushed past him, leaving him confused and clinging to the banister.

 

“What—Derek, what—“

 

“So she can make you do things as the Alpha but all I got was sarcasm,” Derek’s voice was exhausted but there was a drawl in it, the kind of humour that came out when a person had used up all their other emotions.

 

“She’s an Alpha,” Stiles sat down hard on the step. “What, so who did she kill? I thought all the Alpha’s were accounted for. Miss Blake killed Kali, Lydia said Ethan and Aiden were alive, somehow. Scott said he let Deucalion go.”

 

Instead of answering, Derek turned his eyes a brilliant blue and Stiles didn’t think his brain could take more information. “I had to save her.”

 

“Did I know you could do that?” was all Stiles could say dumbly.

 

“I didn’t even know I could do that,” Derek looked away his eyes back to hazel. “I’ve got to get back to my place. You and Cora should figure things out.”

 

“Yeah, right, like I’m going to let you go back there,” Stiles snorted. “Lydia said they trashed the place. You can stay. I’ve got an air mattress somewhere.”

 

“Oh,” Derek looked confused but Stiles had been jerked around all night, both physically and mentally. He couldn’t deal with it anymore.

 

There was an air mattress, a decent one too though the box was dusty. Stiles was pretty sure his dad had bought it for the nights Scott stayed over but when they were younger the two of the usually passed out in Stiles’s bed or on the floor before they thought to set it up. Things hadn’t changed much when they were older, though if Stiles woke up to Scott spooning him one of them got kicked to the floor. There was an automatic pump that Stiles switched on when they cleared a space big enough in the den. They sat quietly side by side on the pulled out couch as the motor hummed furiously and the mattress swelled.

 

Derek cleared his throat. “Look, about… before.” But then he stopped for a full minute and Stiles found himself leaning towards Derek suddenly, as if proximity would make the other man speak.

 

“What about it?” Stiles finally prompted.

 

“It won’t happen again.” It felt like cold water smack into his face. Derek glanced up at the ceiling. “Shower stopped.”

 

But Stiles couldn’t leave now, not even with sweat, blood and earth clinging to his skin and making him feel like he had layer of armor made from grime. He fixed Derek with an angry look because he had almost lost his father tonight. He had almost lost everyone tonight. He had sacrificed part of his _soul_. He was so bone-tired exhausted it felt like he was feeling everything through a dark halo around the edges of his eyes.

 

Maybe it was that darkness or maybe it was the exhaustion driving him to do stupid things, but Stiles glared at Derek until the older man look at him with guilt filled eyes. For a second all Stiles want to do was punch him but he forced that impulse to the back of his mind and found himself saying coldly, “Fine. I’ll take the air mattress, you stay on the couch.” That was punishment enough, actually, since Stiles couldn’t remember having a decent night on that thing. “But I’m not staying in this room with you. Go,” he jerked his head to the door and Derek flinched. “Shower. We’ll figure it out tomorrow.”

 

Derek obeyed too easily, and it took Stiles a while before he could unclench his fists and grab the now inflated air mattress to wrestle it up the stairs.

 

He knocked on Cora’s door, _his_ door actually, and she blinked in surprise when she opened it. She let him in without a word and he dumped the mattress on the floor. Air mattresses were terrible things to try and throw when one was angry, though, because it bounced comically on the floor and knocked a pile of papers onto the floor as it flopped. Stiles sighed in irritation and pressed his hands into his temples as he felt more of a headache piling on.

 

Cora must have snuck up on him because he threw himself backwards when she laid a hand on his shoulder and tripped, falling, fortunately, on the air mattress which saved him from getting another possible concussion. Cora looked surprised at the gravity of his reaction but sat on the bed so she wasn’t hovering over him quite so much. “I thought—you and Derek—“

 

“There is no me-and-Derek,” Stiles was feeling like a broken record. First it had been about Cora and him, now it was about his nothing with Derek. He should wear a sign detailing his non-relationships with the Hale family so people wouldn’t get the wrong idea about him and Peter.

 

“But the other day at the loft,” Cora quirked an eyebrow. “I mean, I know what beard burn looks like and you smelled—“

 

“There’s no me-and-Derek,” Stiles repeated loudly because he knew exactly how thin the walls were for human ears. There was no way Derek couldn’t hear him. “The only Hale I kind of like right now is you.”

 

Cora was quiet for a minute before she said calmly. “Well, I guess I can be happy about that.”

 

Stiles flopped back on the mattress. It bubbled under his body, flattening out his lower back in a way that made him feel all the aches and pains of the night. He wasn’t sure he would be able to soak in a bathtub for a good while though. “Weird night.”

 

“Yeah,” he heard Cora lay back on the bed. “Stiles?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“What if I’m a shitty Alpha? I don’t know anything about being a pack.”

 

Stiles closed his eyes, the mattress was still uncomfortable but being vertical was sapping all his energy. “Don’t worry. Both Peter and Derek sucked at it too. Third Hale’s the charm.”

 

***

 

Breakfast was a painful affair. Stiles woke up so stiff he thought his limbs were going to be stuck in his sleep position for the rest of his life. It took a few tears to sit up and then more when he realized he hadn’t even remembered to take off his mud crusted shoes. Someone had covered him with a blanket in the night, probably his father because it smelled like the spare one they kept in the closet with his mother’s old clothes, and that was a conversation he wasn’t looking forward too. At least he had been on the mattress and Cora was still soundly asleep in his bed.

 

He managed to lurch to the bathroom and though he couldn’t bring himself to take a bath the hot water from the shower felt like bliss as it pounded on his sore muscles. When he was clean and changed into decent clothes he felt slightly more human and shuffled his way painfully down the stairs.

 

Eggs, he thought blurrily, bacon. Coffee. And toast. There was just enough for two humans and two hungry werewolves so Stiles started to make it, managing to slip an ibuprofen from his secret first aid stash into his mouth somewhere along the way. His father showed up but thankfully didn’t mention last night’s sleeping arrangements as he helpfully pulled out dishes and poured himself a mug of coffee. Cora always roused with the smell of food and Derek emerged when she came down. The two Hales and the two Stilinskis sat: Stiles and Cora facing each other, his father at the end of the table, and Derek rounding them out awkwardly.

 

Stiles and his father rarely had time for breakfast like this and even with Cora here Stiles usually ate quickly in the morning while she hovered around the kitchen poking at the stray cans in the cupboards. The few times he remembered breakfasts like these his mother had usually been there and it happened after some kind of holiday, when Stiles couldn’t sit still because even though he had unwrapped his presents they were still frustratingly in their boxes. So, it felt strange how oddly comfortable this felt, quiet and victorious like they were a unit of people who had survived and this was the normalcy they were coming back too. Stiles felt something in his stomach lurch.

 

If anyone had any complaints about the burnt bread or stray eggshells Stiles wasn’t ready to hear them. Fortunately, no one breathed a word during the meal, eating instead in silence though as time passed Cora and the sheriff perked up. Stiles found himself drifting. Sometimes he found himself zoning out over his crust, the sound of a fork scraping ceramic jerked him out of it as he remembered the sick scratch of metal on the hospital floor. When he looked at his father all he saw were the rope burns around his wrists, the careful way he kept his arm close to his chest where Miss Blake had stabbed him.

 

He could feel Derek watching him.

 

The table wasn’t large. With a family of two they hadn’t had much need for more than the standard square table and now that it was at maximum capacity everything felt a little too close. He looked up and Derek glanced away, suddenly reoccupied with his half eaten unbuttered toast.

 

It wasn’t that Stiles felt hurt at the rejection. He had years of Lydia shooting him down and forgetting his name. He was a rubber band through and through, he thought bitterly, but at least with Lydia he knew why. She was beautiful, smart and they had nothing in common besides their interchanging spots on the Dean’s list. He knew, in reality, there was no way he was going to fit into her life and she would never fit into his. So, yeah, the rejection from her stung but at least he understood it.

 

But Derek. Derek had kissed _him_. Derek had chased _him_. And then Stiles had said yes and Derek had run off making Stiles conclude Derek was a complete idiot and he was too tired to suffer through that.

 

Suddenly, Stiles didn’t feel hungry. He shoved the plate of food away and stood up. “Sorry, I’m going back to sleep.”

 

“Stiles,” the sheriff started to stand, concern in his voice but Stiles managed a thin grin. Cora was looking between him and Derek with an almost thoughtful expression but she didn’t say anything. Stiles was grateful for that. 

 

“Stay, eat. Please.” Stiles suddenly couldn’t think of anything better than more sleep right now. “I just didn’t get enough last night and it hit me. I’m fine, I promise.”

 

Habit had his feet heading towards the den and he didn’t stop until he reached the carefully made pull out couch and realized he hadn’t slept there last night. He turned his head, thinking about his own room, the torturous air mattress, the stairs he would have to climb, and crawled onto the springy, squeaking bed instead, burying his face into a pillow that smelled like lilac shampoo and Derek before he fell into another deep sleep.

 

***

 

The Hale’s apartment was wrecked. Completely unlivable, though when the sheriff saw it he made a sarcastic comment about the livability of it before, much to Derek’s offense. Kali’s body had to be taken care of because she was a person with a driver’s license, a degree in accounting from a university in Arizona, and Stiles couldn’t help but feel strange as the corner wheeled her away. At least this one was easy to cover up. No one could accuse Derek of a dropping an entire window pane on her. The sheriff let Derek gather a bag and then the yellow police tape blocked them out more effectively than the steel door.

 

Cora slipped out at some point, probably to see Johan who she had been texting secretly the whole morning. Stiles wondered about the curse and that branch of the family still lingering out there somewhere. Lydia hadn’t mentioned anything about the book but they had been preoccupied with one Big Bad already. It seemed poor form to have two potential threats at the same time—three really because they hadn’t even made the connection between the sacrifices and the alpha pack until it was almost too late. Weren’t the heroes supposed to take a break? Regroup over summer break or something and come back with cooler weapons and an all new cast fresh and ready to face the Earth threatening evil?

 

Stiles was tempted to just let the Hunters win the next one and pushed it from his mind. If they were going to cast a curse they were taking their sweet ass time with it and all he wanted was for a week in his own bed and an endless supply of burritos on his bed stand.

 

However, nice things didn’t happen to Stiles. Rooms were shifted around in the Stilinski house. Cora moved down to the den, Derek took the air mattress down there with her, and Stiles found himself back in his own bed for the first time in a while. It _was_ nice to have his own bed again, though he still had two strange house guests, his father’s bewildered frown, and the weird foggy dreams he had been having morphed into strange nightmares about a white room and running through forests. Derek had tried to book a hotel but the sheriff had fixed him with the same, pants-wetting look he had given Stiles and ground out he wanted the comfort of knowing where Derek was at all times until Cora’s paperwork was finalized.

 

Stiles didn’t know how his father did it. Stiles suspected he would never know but a few days later the sheriff came back from the station bearing a manila envelope with Cora’s birth certificate, a SIN, and several overtly legal documents claiming her identity. He also came with a copy of the Hales’ will he had taken from the fire investigation and the resulting guardianship papers. Under no uncertain circumstances, Derek was ordered to get a real residence with two bedrooms and Cora was to be enrolled into either school or a GED before the sheriff would think of letting her leave the house to live with Derek or Peter, who had still not surfaced, Thalia’s wishes or not.

 

Stiles had taken to avoiding Derek like the plague, holing up in his room after school with Cora and Scott, who was hiding out from his own paternal problems. Derek was usually out, anyway, sometimes with Isaac sometimes not, looking for a suitable apartment somewhere still close to the high school but far enough away the preserve was still close by. Cora declined to go with them, claiming that sharing a room with Derek was the exact amount of time she needed to spend with him and Stiles was grateful because he gotten strangely attaching to having her around.

 

“And now he’s over all the time,” Scott was lying flat on the ground, spread eagle as if his body couldn’t handle all the angst. “And she’s there, just giggling and looking at him like she used to— It’s painful.”

 

“Wait, your dad and mom are getting back together?” Cora looked up from where she was looking at cat pictures on Stiles’s lap top at the desk. Getting her a Facebook account had been a gateway social media drug. He was hoping Derek’s guilt trip would have resulted in her getting her own laptop but no dice yet. “I kind of thought your mom hated him.”

 

“God no! I meant Isaac and Allison,” Scott looked mournfully at Stiles who was relishing in having his bed back by lounging on it as much as possible. He hadn‘t bothered to change into real clothes yet. He had thought since getting his room back he would be sleeping better but instead the nightmares were getting worse. He wondered if Scott and Allison were finding them same problems but he hadn’t thought it ask and, besides, today was a day for lounging in sweats and Yoda tee-shirts anyway. Cora had done the laundry and had used the flowery smelling detergent so he was hard pressed to do anything but let the lilac scent relax him. “I’m happy they’re happy but can’t they make out somewhere that’s not my room? I used to make out in there.”

 

“Her apartment is still crowded with her cousins there,” Cora pointed out. “Johan—“ she stopped suddenly and shared a panicked look with Stiles but he just rolled his eyes at her. “I mean, it must be crowded with all of them and just the apartment.”

 

Scott sighed again, unhappily. “It just feels cruel. Sometimes they just _look_ at me before going up.” He shivered. “It feels like they’re taunting me.”

 

“Maybe it’s for a different reason,” Cora rolled her eyes. She looked at him with a raised eyebrow but Scott just looked at her pathetically. She sighed. “Maybe there’s a reason they’ve been using _your_ bed to spread _their_ pheromones around _you_.”

 

Stiles knew Scott well enough to tell he was on the brink of understanding what Cora was hinting at. “Because,” Scott said slowly. “They—hate me?

 

“Or maybe,” Cora sighed impatiently. “They want to spend more time with their Alpha.” There was a long pause. “Intimate time.” There was a long pause. Cora growled. “With _you_. For _sex_.”

 

Scott flushed and sat straight up. “ _What_?”

 

Oh. _Oh_.

 

From the look on Scott’s face he hadn’t considered that idea either. Stiles suddenly couldn’t stop imagining the three of them, naked on Scott’s bed and— He blanched, scrubbing his eyes like it would magically clean out the images from his brain. He glanced over at Scott who was clearly having the same ideas as Stiles but wasn’t so traumatised by them. A slow smile crept over his face. “Really?”

 

“ _Yes_ ,” Cora glared at him. “And if I have to hear Isaac moping around my room one more time I’m going to rip your face off and wear it like a hat.”

 

“I’m going to talk to Allison,” Scott stood up. “When Isaac and Derek get back tell him to call me, okay?” Cora flapped a hand dismissively at him as he bolted out of the room. Stiles glanced over at Cora who had clicked on a video about sleepy pandas.

 

“Well that was weird.”

 

She glanced over at him calmly. “What? The whole Isaac thing?” She sniffed smugly and tapped her nose. “If you were a werewolf you’d have figured it out just as fast.”

 

“Wait, that’s how you knew? Smell?” Stiles ignored the snub.

 

 “Mostly,” she said. “We can smell normal things—blood, sweat, and stuff. But if you concentrate you can smell other things. Frustration, happiness—Pain, or fear,” her eyes unfocused for a second as if she was recalling something unpleasant but she gave a minute shake of her head before turning to him with a half grin. “Isaac and Scott just aren’t good at it.”

 

“I bet that make puberty all the more awkward,” Stiles said but then bolted up as a panicked thought came to him. “Wait—how the hell hasn’t your brother figured out about you and Johan then?”

 

“He’s an obtuse idiot and I’ve got my own ways of deal with him. Speaking of Johan,” she glanced at her phone which had started to become a permanent fixture in her hand. “I’m waiting for him to get back to me so if Derek comes back and I’m not here—“ she grinned. “Actually, never mind. I’m the alpha now. I can do whatever I want.”

 

“Isn’t it going to bother you?”

 

“What, being the alpha?” she wrinkled her nose. “It’s not as different as I thought it would be.”

 

“Not that, though yes, technically that. I meant Isaac and Allison, you know, with Scott,” Stiles hand waved the whole uncomfortableness of thinking of Scott’s sex life. “I mean, Isaac and Scott were kind of Derek’s pack first. With Scott being an alpha too and Isaac, uh, switching sides, shouldn’t you be more proactive in keeping your people in place?”

 

“So you’re suggesting _I_ hook up with Isaac to seal his loyalty?”

 

“Dude, I just had lunch, don’t give me those kinds of visuals,” Stiles shuttered. “It’s just, I kind of thought you’d want to keep the pack you have. Derek was pretty dead set on expanding. If Isaac was going to take up camp with Scott I thought your Alpha-senses would be tingling.”

 

Cora picked up her phone and fiddled with it before replying. “Like I said, being an Alpha’s not as different as I thought it was going to be. I don’t mind Scott being around. He still feels like pack. Maybe it’s not one Alpha per pack all the time.”

 

Stiles raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, we all saw how well multiple Alphas in one pack worked out.”

 

“I’d like to think I’m not going to go homicidal just because there’s another leader around,” Cora sighed. “I’m not going to risk splitting up the one good thing I have just to satisfy some stupid tradition. If Scott and I are fine then I’m just going to let it go and see how things work out.”

 

“That’s not how it works in the wild.”

 

“ _Were_ wolf,” Cora practically growled. “You do realize just because we‘re werewolves we don‘t stop being human? It‘s not like Scott and Isaac got a personality transplant. We can still think,” she tapped her head soundly.

 

“But what about Isaac and Erica and their leather thing when Derek bit them? I thought that was a werewolf kind of personality transformation,” Stiles said but Cora just gave him a confused look. He supposed she had a point though. The leather thing had never really caught on. Also, though he hadn’t spent a lot of time with Isaac before, he did remember when they had cornered Jackson at the rave. Isaac and Erica had been as confused and frightened as he had known them in school before the change. When they were in the face of real, supernatural danger for the first time, Stiles had to be the one to step up.

 

“Leather was more of a Laura thing than a werewolf thing,” Cora sighed. “I remember mom hating it. She thought it was a cliché but,” Cora smiled faintly. “I kind of thought it was cool.”

 

“Derek never talks about Laura,” Stiles said. “That’s weird, right? Like, should be entering therapy weird or just a quirky thing?”

 

“One thing that hasn’t changed is how well Derek uses his words,” Cora said dryly. “He was driving her Camero for a while. I think that was his way of grieving.”

 

“Wait,” Stiles sat up. “The Camero was Laura’s?”

 

“Well, yeah,” Cora said. “As if Derek would get a car with that kind of gas mileage.” It was like learning Santa didn’t exist and Stiles knew he must looked like a fish, his mouth gaping open, but Cora wasn’t looked at him any more as her phone buzzed. “Isaac is going to head over to Allison’s.” There was a kind of mischievous smirk on her face. “It’s kind of nice, isn’t it? Having more than one person to share your life with?”

 

Stiles managed a strangled kind of laugh. “Thanks but no thanks. I’m not sure I can take one other person’s drama let alone two. I think I’m a one-person kind of man.”

 

“That’s good to know,” Cora said almost slyly. “Derek’s the jealous type.”

 

She had been dropping hints like that whenever she could so Stiles let out a frustrated sigh. “Derek and I, not happened. _Finito_.”

 

“But—“

 

“Just, drop it,” Stiles begged. “Please?”

 

Her eyes softened a little. “Fine. Sorry. It just feels like something is off balance with you two fighting. I can’t really explain it.”

 

“So you think I should hook up with Derek to, what,” Stiles couldn’t help but mock her a little. “Strengthen pack ties?”

 

“I just ate,” she rolled her eyes with a grin. “Don’t make me sick.” Stiles watched as Cora picked up her bag, some kind of Lydia-esque brand name, and thought briefly at how far she had come in such a short time.  

 

“Wait,” Stiles scrambled to his feet. “Where are you going? We were in the middle of an intense heart to heart, you know!”

 

“I’ve got plans with Johan,” she said breezily. “And by the way, don’t think I don’t know you’re happy you are now that you know you don’t have to split your loyalties between Scott and me.”

 

“Hey,” Stiles said indignantly. “I never said I was in _any_ pack.”

 

Cora rolled her eyes at that and Stiles wasn’t the kind of person to let things go without a fight so he followed her down the stairs protesting the whole way.

 

When they got the kitchen Stiles was surprised to see Derek already down there, rustling through the cupboards though he stopped as soon as they entered. Cora didn’t pause so she must have heard him with her stupid superhuman-not-entirely-wolf-my-ass powers. She sent Derek a hard look and grabbed Stiles by his shirt collar, Stiles wincing when he realized it was the one she had ripped before. Before he could do more than squeak in surprise, she planted a quick, rough kiss on his cheek then shoved him into the counter. “I’ll see you boys later.”

 

Okay, that was officially the weirdest thing Cora had done since moving in. He scrubbed at his cheek with his wrist just in case there was some kind of werewolf Alpha saliva itch power he hadn’t heard about but frozen when he felt Derek’s eyes practically boring a hole in the back of his head. He turned around with a glare. “What are you looking at, crabby pants?”

 

Derek’s eyebrows were practically vibrating as they almost met in a very angry V shape on his face. “Nothing. Just nothing. Never mind.”

 

Before Stiles would have thought Derek had been pissed off because of the name calling but Derek was suddenly an ever changing enigma. Stiles was still reeling a little from the knowledge that the Camero hadn’t been Derek’s car. But as Stiles looked harder it was almost like the baby-murdering face he was pulling wasn’t pissed off at Stiles at all. He looked almost _jealous_. “Still angry she likes me better than you, huh?” Stiles felt almost delighted when he saw Derek’s jaw clench.

 

“Whatever. Do what you like.”

 

“Don‘t worry, I was the one who showed her how to use YouTube on a phone,” Stiles didn’t know exactly why he felt like antagonizing Derek but he had finally gotten a rise out of Derek and he wanted to hold onto it like a dog with a bone. “That’s a lot of ground to make up but if you try I’m sure you can do it.”

 

Derek stared at him like he was an idiot. “I made her Alpha.”

 

“Cat videos,” Stiles held up his left hand, then his right. “Alpha Powers?” He tilted, dropping his right hand somewhere close to his hip with a smirk. “I think we both know which one wins out there.”

 

Derek shut the cupboard with a bang that almost popped it off the hinges. “Hey! I know you‘re used to living in burn out husks of stuff but we actually take care of the crown molding here!”

 

“That’s not crown molding,” Derek huffed. “And don’t worry, we’ll be out of your hair soon enough. Isaac and I found a place.”

 

“Great,” Stiles was surprised at the disappointment those words brought. “Fantastic. Where is it this time, that old brewery in the woods? I think it’ll finally meet your standard of dank and dark.”

 

Stiles regretted the words as soon as he said them. Derek looked murderous but jerked his head to the side, abruptly moving to push past Stiles. He grabbed Derek’s elbow as he went to push by and Derek stopped, canines suddenly visible. Stiles just gripped his arm tighter.

 

“Okay, that was too far. I’m sorry.” They were standing close now, the entrance to the kitchen was narrow. Derek’s skin felt hot and suddenly too alive but Stiles hung on gamely. “Look, I’m sorry for being in a shit mood the last while. It’s been a stressful week.”

 

Derek raised an eyebrow at him. “You think? Stressful? Stiles, I’m sleeping next to your father’s high school yearbooks because of this week. Trust me, I know how stressful this week has been.”

 

“It hasn’t been all roses here either,” Stiles frowned and let go of his grip. Derek took a step back, stretching out his shoulders like he was trying to shake off Stiles’s touch which was, frankly, kind of offensive. “I had to sell part of my soul to save my father. That’s not exactly couch change. At least you and Cora made up. I’ve still got a very uncomfortable conversation I have to have with my dad as soon as you guys clear out.”

 

“That’s not my problem.”

 

“It became your problem the moment you practically forced Cora on me,” Stiles said and Derek inexplicably flinched. “Though I kind of like having her around so I’ll forgive you for that one. And you’re taking Isaac back so I think you’re going to get your payback.”

 

“What does this have to do with Isaac?” Derek’s forehead was knitted in confusion.

 

“I’d hate to ruin the surprise for you,” Stiles smirked. “But you’ll find out eventually because if Scott’s dad sticks around and they can’t go to Allison’s, they’re going to be doing their weird, freaky, girlfriend sharing thing at your new place. You should soundproof your room.”

 

Derek’s nostrils flared a little. “Girlfriend sharing?”

 

“Or boyfriend sharing. Honestly, I never want to hear the details about who is sharing who, in whatever combinations it happens. As much fun as threesomes sound, I’m a little selfish when it comes to sharing the person I’m sleeping with. I’d call it an only child thing but it’s not like Allison and Scott have siblings.”

 

Stiles could see the moment the images clicked in Derek’s brain because his eyes widen in horror. The tension that had been lingering in the air dissipated as Stiles laughed, leaning against the doorjamb for support as Derek just looked at him with increasing despair as the schematics of being in charge of but not actually responsible for the sex lives of three healthy teenagers hit him. Stiles reached out without thinking and clapped him on the shoulder. “Good luck with that one, buddy. Don’t worry, Cora will continue to sack out here when that happens I think so one less hormonal teenager under your roof.”

 

And just like that Derek’s face darkened again and he stiffly pulled away from Stiles’s hand. “Sure, yeah.”

 

Okay, so maybe Stiles had been teasing him a bit but he didn’t have a damn clue as to what he had said or done to change the mood around and he was sick and tired of it. “Derek, man, I was just teasing--”

 

Derek was already moving to the back of the house, though, and Stiles found himself following without putting much thought into it. “Seriously, you can come too! It’ll be like a big ol’Stilinski/Hale fiesta whenever those three get their bang on. My dad just started to get used to having you around anyway, you’d break his heart just dumping him cold.”

 

They were all the way into the den. Since Cora and Derek had been sleeping there, the case files and photos from left over from the kanima sessions had been taken down so the grey walls looked bare. They hadn’t bothered to put the couch away though it took up a lot of room and now that they had arrived Derek turned to look at Stiles with an awkward, confused expression. “Why the hell did you follow me down here?”

 

“I don’t know?” Stiles threw a hand in the air. “It seemed reasonable at the time. Why did you bring me here?”

 

“I didn’t bring you here,” Derek practically growled. “I was retreating. Don’t you know what that is?”

 

“Tactical running away, of course I know what it is,” Stiles quipped. “I’m a human in a werewolf pack, it’s my Plan A, B, and C. The question is, why the hell are you retreating? Are you afraid of me or something? Did I scare the Big Bad Wolf?”

 

“Get out of here, Stiles.”

 

“No!” Stiles planted his feet though Derek hadn’t made a move towards him. “My house; my rules.”

 

Derek stared at him for a moment, his expression unreadable though Stiles rarely knew what the hell that man was thinking, before he turned and grabbed his duffle bag from the floor. Stiles had a sudden sick flashback to days before when Cora had done the same thing and he quickly placed himself in front of the door, bracing his hands on the frame when Derek started to approach with a determined expression.

 

“Get. Out. Of my way.” The words were clipped with barely contained impatience but Stiles wasn’t cowed. “If you don’t move I’m going to rip your arms out of your sockets and beat you unconscious with them.”

 

“Great comeback, I’m so glad you and your sister have found one thing to bond over,” Stiles snapped. “Because I’m not letting you leave until Cora gets back. I’m not going to be the person she has to come too because her stupid ass brother ran out on her. Again.”

 

“I’m not running out on her, I’m running out on you!” Derek said. “Your house, your rules, right? Well, I’m tired of playing by your rules right now.”

 

“Well that’s too bad because I’m tired of playing by yours,” Stiles felt like he was in a face off. If there had been room he was certain Derek would be circling him like a wild dog but instead they just stood, both tensed for a fight neither of them wanted.

 

“Is it too much to ask for some neutral ground with you people?” Derek ground out and Stiles decided to take a stab in the dark. “There’s never any damn privacy anymore.”

 

“Is this about the Allison, Scott, Isaac thing? It is weird for you?”

 

“Sure,” Derek said tensely. “I didn’t think I’d have to let my real estate agent know I would be hosting swingers parties every weekend. It’s going to eat into the square footage.”

 

“Very funny,” Stiles said dryly. “It’s not just Isaac you know. I’d watch out for you sister. She seemed too comfortable with the whole polyamorous idea.”

 

“Yeah, right,” Derek snorted. “Cora wouldn’t share her toys with our cousins, she’s not going to share _that_.”

 

“Funny, she once said you were the one who was bad at the sharing bit.”

 

The hackles seemed to fade. Derek let the bag dangle from his fingers as he looked at Stiles hard, like he was trying to figure out a puzzle instead of looking for arteries to rip out. “She said what?”

 

Stiles felt his forehead furrow, he wasn’t entirely sure why Derek was looking at him like that and it was making him nervous. His adrenaline had been pumping before but he knew the biggest fear lay in the anticipation. If Derek wasn’t trying to escape anymore he couldn’t predict what Derek was going to do next and that was making his heart pound annoyingly. What was more frustrating was the irritating knowledge that Cora had dropped on him. Derek’s nostrils were flaring, he must be able to smell the emotions all over him. He crossed his arms defensively, as if it would help. “She said you would be the jealous type, if that kind of arrangement was suggested.”

 

Derek was gaping at him for a moment and Stiles felt a clammy sweat starting on the back of his neck. “You mean she—she would be okay with—“ Derek looked like he was choking out the next string of words, “an arrangement?”

 

“Well, I don’t think she’d be leaping for joy at the prospect herself but she said it was better to share the love than not have it all at.”

 

The bag dropped to the floor with a loud thump. “She said that.”

 

“Derek, her story isn’t my story to tell but that girl is willing to do anything to keep the people she loves around. If you and I are going to be a problem then I’m pretty sure she wants us to work it out by whatever means because, frankly, I’m not going to be able to be around you if you keep running hot and cold on me. And I’m not going away. So,” he gestured between them. “We have to just resolved this… tension. One way or another.”

 

Stiles had a split second to prepare because he recognised the look in Derek’s eye this time. He didn’t understand it any more than before, but he saw the shift from confusion and bewilderment to a mix of determination and anxiety right before Derek took an almost running leap across the room and backed Stiles up, through the door into the hallway wall. It was just enough time to brace himself and keep from hitting the wooden frames hanging behind his head before Derek was kissing him again.

 

This was different from last time though. Last time had been harsh and angry because they had been fighting. Stiles had felt Derek’s hands like an extension of that, something to push and struggle against because it had been an extension of his words. This time, though it was no less passionate and edged in desperation, Derek was almost hesitant. He tilted Stiles’s head to a better angle, pressing him against the wall like before, but even though he had a solid grip Stiles felt it was precarious. If he moved the wrong way, Derek would disappear like a puff of cold air. He tested it; raising a hand to Derek’s chest but before he could put real pressure behind it the other man shot back through the door so fast he nearly tripped over his dropped bag.

 

“Okay,” Stiles reached up to touch his lips for a moment, not trusting the tingling feeling until he pressed it against his teeth. “Okay, I don’t really get it but okay.”

 

Derek seemed more prepared for him too, this time, as he followed Derek back into the room closing the den door like an afterthought. He had his arms halfway up as Stiles stepped over the bag and into his personal space. Stiles kissed him, slower than last time because it wasn’t like he had much practice at this but he did know enough about what felt good.

 

For a brief moment he felt transported back into a wine cellar, the non-windowed room of the den making the time feel eerily dark and the musky smell of old bottles akin to the smell of tweed from the kinds of pullout couches everyone had bought in the 70s because they had been a good idea. But this time he was the one reaching up a little, pushing at Derek’s shoulders until he backed up to the bed. Stiles felt a stab of kinship, suddenly, for a dead girl he had once known but instead of the painful sadness he normally felt he remembered how determined she had been, scared but brave as she had kicked off her heels and asked him if he had wanted to. It felt nice, right, to finally be able to remember her alive instead of on that table in the morgue and with that he shoved at Derek’s shoulders until the other man sank down onto the bed with a strain squeak of the springs.

 

However, that flash of confidence quickly disappeared when Stiles found himself standing, mouth suddenly disastrously dry as Derek sat staring at him, waiting.

 

What was he supposed to do now? Just climb on? Where the hell were his knees supposed to go? Stiles was suddenly painfully aware he was in his old sweats and half hard, which was hard enough to hid in jeans and a lost cause right now. Was it bad etiquette to race up to brush his teeth? Should he have showered? Why the hell hadn’t he showered, his hair was standing on end from rolling around on his bed and he wondering in a frantic moment if it was too late to shave it all off again so he wouldn’t be facing potential cockblockage because of his God damn stupid bed head.

 

He must have been standing there too long and Derek must have seen the panic on his face because he rolled his eyes and grabbed Stiles just above his hips. He yanked him hard until Stile’s dick was pressed flat against oh, so, hard abs and Stiles suddenly didn’t care so much about his hair. He forced his eyes to open, looking down to where Derek was smirking at him. Just like that, Stiles frowned because, yeah, he could do this as long as he remembered this was Derek, the guy who still used a Nokia flip phone and thought Instagram was a cereal.

 

It was _weird_ to feel stubble against his skin as he shoved Derek flat on the bed so he could figure out where exactly one’s knees went. He pressed his lips there, curious because Derek had been so insistent last time and he wasn’t sure if this was going to happen again, or how long Derek was going to put up with this before freaking out. He wanted to see the appeal but it was just lips on skin and coarse hair until he opened his mouth and licked, suddenly the nerves along his tongue alive and warm as he felt Derek’s pulse jump and his hands tighten like a reflex on Stiles’s ribs. He tried it again, the suddenness of realising all that time in porn it was warmth, sweat, skin and muscle. It was making him harder, and Derek’s hands slipped down, a hissing breath somewhere near his ear making Stiles press his teeth where his tongue had been. Wasn’t this what teenagers were supposed to do? Necking?

 

But Derek’s hands were slipping under the elastic of his boxers and Stiles’s arms which had been doing such a good job holding him up start to shake. Stiles was suddenly all too aware the other things teenagers did.

 

“It’s okay, right?” Derek’s breath was strained and instead of answering Stiles kissed him because that was familiar ground again. It was like lighting a match, suddenly his body seemed to know to move, to follow the lead of their mouths. Derek’s hands slid up this time, pushing his tee shirt under his arm puts as they swept on his skin, pebbling it like he was cold when actually all he could feel was the wet heat of Derek’s mouth. He must be making some pretty embarrassing sounds because he knew himself, he couldn’t be quiet if he was gagged and blindfolded, but whatever he was doing just seemed to fuel Derek.

 

Strong arms suddenly wrapped around his waist and the world shifted until he was looking at the low tiled ceiling. Derek suddenly blocked his view before he started kissing down his neck, the sharps of his canines catching on his skin in a way that made him shiver. He grabbed at the hem of Derek’s tee shirt until Derek pulled way enough to tug it off.

 

He suddenly could see why Derek hadn’t been able to stop touching him because he found his own hands seemed to develop a mind of their own. Derek was back, alternating between hot, toe curling kisses and wet explorations down his collarbone. He was moving too much, it was getting too hard for Stiles to hold him still so he wrapped his legs around Derek in a desperate effort to just pin the sucker down and it brought both their erections in sharp contact.

 

“Stiles,” Derek was panting but his voice was still gruff, a difficult feat. Stiles would have commended him on if he could catch his breath. “I’m going to take my pants off.”

 

It was such a weird thing to say, strangely considerate for the situation, and Stiles couldn’t help but laugh because he had never thought Derek would try to be polite in bed when he rarely was in real life. “By all means,” he swept his hand through the air like an open invitation. “You’re welcome to take mine off too, good sir.”

 

Derek froze, like he was suddenly re-evaluating Stiles as well, but grinned and reared back, his hands at his jeans. Skin on skin was a million times hotter and within a very short amount of time Stiles found himself shivering helplessly as Derek hitched one of Stiles’s knees over his elbow and nerves he didn’t know he had were shooting fireworks behind his eyes. Derek had a big, warm hand wrapped around Stiles’s erection though he just kept squeezing and rubbing the tip with his thumb, just enough to make Stiles lose his words but not enough to trigger the orgasm Stiles could feel in his balls.

 

He turned his head, breaking the kiss with a hard bite to Derek’s jaw and growled out, “Come _on_!”

 

Derek’s gave a final squeeze before letting go completely which was the _total opposite_ of what Stiles had thought he had been hinting at, and sitting up, suddenly so far away. Stiles’s fingernails clawed at his shoulders trying to drag him back down. “What the hell are you _doing_ , get back here!”

 

“I need--” Derek’s voice was strained and hazy. He met Stiles’s eyes with a crazed look. “Stay here,” he grabbed Stiles’s hands and pressed them down into Stiles’s ribs before scrambling off the bed.

 

“The hell I am!” Stiles sat up quickly to follow but Derek had only gone as far as his bag, ripping it open with his claws in a single minded determination until he held up a small, discreet tube with a triumphant fist. Stiles felt his insides clench a bit and he grabbed at his dick, stroking roughly a few times to keep the edge off. Derek’s eyes suddenly zeroed on his hand and Stiles froze.

 

“Is it okay, if I--” Derek left the words hanging, his eyes flickering from Stiles’s dick to his face and Stiles let go, spreading his knees eagerly. Derek didn’t need more encouragement and the second he felt Derek lick up the backside of his cock he thought he would be finished.

 

“Jesus,” Stiles couldn’t stop his hands from flying to Derek’s hair. He also couldn’t stop his hands from getting tangled in Derek’s hair which was probably painful, even for a werewolf.His knee jerked as Derek wrapped his lips around Stiles’s dick before sinking down, his lips meeting the fist he had wrapped around the base. He settled for the happy medium of Derek’s neck, gripping at the junction where it met his shoulders and digging his fingers into the shifting muscles of Derek’s shoulder blades as he did something wonderful with his tongue.

 

He had heard blowjobs were good, that some guys preferred them to full out sex and he had tried to imagine one but for all those report cards claiming Stile’s above normal imagination he had never been able to imagine something quite like this. He could barely focus his eyes as he felt Derek smirk, warm, wet heat engulfing what felt like raw nerves as Derek sucked, taking more of him into his mouth, making parts of Stiles’s body spasm. “Oh my God, this is not going to last long if you keep doing that.”

 

Derek pulled off with an obscene smack of his lips and Stiles had to look to the ceiling, hoping orgasms were like sneezes and if you look up you could stop them. However, Derek pinched him suddenly, hard and biting on his hip and Stiles yelped in pain. “What the hell was that?”

 

“Don’t come yet. I have something I’ve been wanting to do.”

 

“Condoms!” Stiles’s voice felt high and squeaky, making him wince and clear his throat. “I have condoms. Upstairs!”

 

Something clouded in Derek’s eyes but he shook his head. “We’re not going to do that, not yet.”

 

Stiles narrowed his eyes. “Do I get a say in this? What if I want to do it? There’s two of us on this bed you know.”

 

“I’m not fucking you,” Derek said roughly, “On the noisiest pullout couch known to man.”

 

“Seriously, Derek, you suck at words,” Stiles didn’t know why he was still talking. His eyes zeroed in on the tube as Derek flicked it open. “What exactly are you going to do then?”

 

“Trust me.”

 

“Those words aren’t as reassuring as you think, especially when they come from you,” Stiles let himself be pushed back against the bed as Derek climbed off the floor and back between his knees.

 

It was familiar until it wasn’t as Derek pressed his pelvis into Stiles and Stiles had a sudden, mind melting moment where he realised they were both naked from the waist down and he was harder than he had ever been in his life. His legs felt too long and out of place until Derek reached for one and hooked it higher so Stiles’s knee knocked into his ribs. Stiles caught on, bringing up his other leg until his hips were tiled at angle that made Stiles shiver.

 

Derek was braced on his elbows but he shifted to carry weight on his knees so he could slide his large hands on Stiles’s biceps, tangling in the short sleeves of Stiles’s tee shirt. Without much force, he dragged both of his arms, up, around, digging his fingers like trailblazers along Stile’s the muscles until he reached his wrists and then crossed them just over Stiles’s head. Stiles could help but stare as Derek gave him a toothy grin and shifted his grip so he was pinning both wrists with one hand.

 

When Stiles was nervous he ran his mouth. He was going to blame it entirely on Scott for thinking he had been funny all these years and encouraging the barrage of stupid, stupid things when he opened his mouth and found himself wheezing out, “Playing the Alpha tonight?”

 

The grin faded slightly and Stiles wanted to take the words back but Derek just leaned in for a kiss, brief and hard before pulling back. “That comes later.”

 

To Stiles’s regret, Derek had to let go of his wrists but all that flew out the proverbial window when he managed somehow to find the tube where he had dropped it and a slick, warm hand wrapped about Stiles’s erection. It was a bit of a blur, Stiles knew he was digging his heels into Derek’s ass at some point, his hands didn’t stay on the bed. They flew to touch and grab anything he could find to anchor him. Probably due to habit, one hand flew down between their bodies but instead of the familiar touch of his own dick he found himself closing his hand around Derek’s and through the pleasurable fog that had settled over his brain he could feel Derek reacting to it.

 

The bed still squeaked a bit but Stiles could barely hear it over the roar of his heartbeat and the quiet moans Derek was making along his neck. It was familiar to do this, just a little backwards he supposed, but at the same time it was completely different. Derek was setting the speed, the pressure, and it was infuriatingly slow. Stiles found himself whining, trying to give direction but failing miserably at coherent sentences and tried instead to demonstrate on Derek, moving faster and harder. All that did, though, was make Derek stutter over him, not biting exactly but griping Stiles’s shoulder though his tee shirt with his teeth until Stiles realised that Derek had been right about the pace all along, and Stiles came unexpectedly, feeling like all the air was being pushed out of his body in one swoop, cum leaking through Derek’s fingers and down between their stomachs. He must have sworn, it felt like a moment for curse words but Derek pinned him down and worked him through it until he couldn’t take it anymore and batted his hand away.

 

Derek was still hard and almost immediately he knocked Stiles’s lax grip and wrapped his hand in a fist around himself, the back of his knuckles sliding through the stray lube and cum pooling to Stiles’s navel. Before he could gather what was left of his brain and offer reach over to return the favour, Derek came with a strangled cry and added to the mess in thick, hot bursts. For a moment, his arms gave out on him and he half fell onto Stiles, his weight pinning Stiles effectively though Stiles found he didn’t really mind. He brought a hand to the back of Derek’s neck, squeezing the knob at the top of his spine as Derek shuddered then rolled off.

 

Stiles couldn’t stop himself from reaching a hand out and running it over his heaving chest, feeling his ribs expanding and contracting under the sweaty, sticky skin until finally Derek turned to look at him.

 

There was something about the sharp angles of his face; they looked edged away somehow. Stiles reached up to push his hair back from his forehead so it looked more normal. Derek wrinkled his nose and batted his hand away then frowned, reaching for the collar of Stiles’s shirt. It wasn’t until he stuck a finger through the rip on the collar that he realised it was there.

 

“Sorry,” Derek said tugged at it. “I don’t know when I did that.”

 

Stiles twisted to look at it, straining to remember when it had happened. “Uh, I think that was Cora’s handy work actually. She can get a little handsy when she’s worked up.”

 

Then, just like that, Derek’s whole body seemed to go through a lock down and the content, satisfied look on his face drained away. “Oh, right.” He drew his hand away quickly. Stiles went to reach for him again, suddenly itching to touch any part of his skin, but Derek was already moving away and off the desk. Self-conscious now, Stiles sat up and tugged the shirt down to cover his stomach. Derek was half dressed already, tugging his shirt over his head, and Stiles couldn’t help but stare and feel a little lost.

 

“You should shower first,” Derek handed him his sweats. “I’ll clean up in here.”

 

Stiles took the pants and slid them on, frowning the whole time as Derek pushed him gently out of the den and firmly closed the door in his face.

 

***

 

Stiles thought it would get weird. After all, his best friend was in some kind of weird threesome, Cora was suddenly starting at their school mid semester, and, oh yeah, he had slept with Derek. It _had_ to get weird. It was _Derek_. The guy didn’t do things normally. Stiles wasn’t sure what he expected. Dead animals at his doorstep, maybe. Some late night nookie while his dad was on late shift. Some stalking. Not too much but it was kind of Derek’s MO and Stiles was getting disappointed every time he turned on his light to an empty bedroom. Weird was familiar. Weird was pretty much the most normal thing in Stiles’s life.

 

Instead, it got almost… _actually_ normal _._

 

Derek and Cora moved out quickly. The apartment was actually rather nice and furnished so with the right amount of cash and the sheriff scrutinizing his every move, the Hale siblings were able to pack their few belongings and move in without any fuss. With Cora starting at the school and Isaac able to move back in with them now that Derek wasn’t brooding in his own darkness and pain, Derek had to drive them to the high school in the morning and pick them up like an actual responsible adult and guardian.

 

He felt more sluggish than usual the first day that he saw Derek pull into the spot next to him. He was covering a jaw-cracking yawn as the doors opened and he leaned against the SUV.

 

“Hey,” Cora looked sullen as she got out of the car. “It’s too early for this.”

 

Stiles grinned and reached out to pat her cheek. “Awe, first day of school. You’re going to fit in.” Cora scowled and smacked his hand away. Isaac had already bolted from the back seat but Stile was a little confused when Derek also stepped out, sunglasses firmly in place and a scowl as he met them by the back of the car.

 

“Morning,” Stiles mustered up the most cheerful grin he could but the house had felt empty and venerable last night. He had spent most of it researching old forums about ghost hunters and had fallen asleep over the keyboard. He had woken up to his father flicking his ear in exasperation and a painful crick in his neck. “Dropping off the kids at school, very domestic of you. If you want a nanny service I can keep an eye out.”

 

“Shut up,” Derek growled and reached out to grab Stiles by his jacket. For a second he thought he was going to get his head smacked into something but then, almost too quick to register, Derek placed a kiss on his temple and shoved him back so hard Cora had to keep him on his feet. “Here,” Derek tossed a paper bag at him but again it was Cora who caught it with a frown. “Tell Isaac if he’s late he can find his own ride.”

 

Then, like a ghost, he was back in the SUV and backing out of the parking spot. Cora yanked Stiles out of the path of the car as Derek sped out then handed him the paper bag with a sigh. “God, sometimes I think he was dropped on his head.”

 

“What the hell was that?” Stiles managed to sputter out. The sleepy tendrils that had been tugging at him were fading. He opened the bag but the muffin inside didn’t explain anything. It mocked him, sitting there in all its blueberry normalcy.

 

“Welcome to the world of dating my brother,” she patted him on the back. “Come on, you can show me where the hell the office is.”

 

He waved to Danny, standing with two girls, one of them he recognised from his English class. They were talking frantically, sneaking glances over at them and Stiles frowned when Danny only gave a cursory wave back. That was strange. But then again, they did just have two teachers suddenly up and die horrible terrifying deaths. People coped in all sorts of ways and Stiles was just grateful the girl seemed to have a friend in Danny. That kind of social power would help her if Lydia decided to keep up whatever grudge she had against the girl.

 

  He heard snatches of their conversation as he passed.

 

“There’s another one?”

 

“… how are they all so _hot_ , do you think they found each other online?”

 

“…what the hell do you mean his _cousin_?”

 

Danny shot him a pained smile and Stiles ducked his head so he wouldn’t have to address the curious stares.

 

Cora’s schedule didn’t do much to improve the day when they realised she had been enrolled in mostly sophomore classes and Stiles had to nearly drag her out of the office. Her homeroom was fine, though, and Stiles was relieved to see Allison and Scott as he walked her up to the door.

 

“Hi,” Allison said quickly, her eyes flickering between Stiles’s harassed face and Cora’s dark expression. “Welcome to your first day, Cora. I know how it feels to be the new kid so just stick with me.”

 

“Thanks,” Cora sounded surprised but some of the misery faded from her face. Stiles was suddenly grateful for Allison in a way he normally felt when she was pumping evil werewolves with exploding arrows but before he could express that he frowned at the books in her hands.

 

“Isn’t that Scott’s chemistry book?”

 

“Oh,” she glanced down at it then at Scott. “Yeah, well, I guess it is. I’m carrying his books for him because—“

 

“We’re dating again,” Scott jumped in and slipped his hand into hers, his face sliding into a dopey grin. Stiles made a gagging noise; their love was sickening sometimes. Cora, however, reached over to grab something balanced on top of Scott’s much scratched up textbook.

 

“Isn’t this Isaac’s pencil case?”

 

“Yeah, and Scott, I’m pretty sure those aren’t yours either,” Stiles pointed at the soft pink and blue book bag he had hanging off one shoulder and the notebook that was clearly for a computer class which Stiles knew Scott wasn’t taking but Isaac was.

 

“Well, we had to sort some things out but,” Allison’s grin was as sickening as Scott’s. “We’re all kind of dating.”

 

Sometimes Stiles knew the coach called random drug tests because when Scott was happy or content his eyes got this kind of drugged out pupil business. Before Allison it had happened for things like his birthday or that time in when snuggies were still new enough no one made fun of them and they spent six hours in fuzzy bliss for a Call of Duty marathon. After Allison, though, it felt like every other week Stiles had to pee in a cup because she had some new flavour of lip gloss. Though Stiles had been happy for the guy, it was annoying to be around someone so euphoric and, with a groan, he realised if Scott was dating _two_ people it was just going to be worse.

 

It was nice to see Scott so happy, it really was, but Stiles couldn’t force his face into a smile because Isaac was suddenly walking towards them, and _oh my God_. The stupid look wasn’t just on Scott’s face anymore and if Isaac and Scott kept it up, Stiles was going to be peeing in a cup twice a day and Finstock was going to have an aneurysm.

 

“This weird little fifties book carrying system you have going on is adorable, really,” Stiles sighed.

 

“Here,” Scott reached out and plucked one of Stiles’s textbooks from his arms and tucked it into his own pile. “No jealousy in the pack.”

 

A girl, close enough to hear, stumbled as she passed them. Isaac reached out a hand to steady her and she flushed. “Uh, thanks,” she said breathy.

 

  “No problem,” Isaac said. He took his hand away but she didn’t move, staring at them wide-eyed for a moment before shaking her head as if to snap out of a daze and then took off down the hall.

 

“Seriously, what is with this school and those girls?” Stiles frowned. “I keep on seeing them everywhere.”

 

“It’s because you’re a dense idiot.” Stiles jumped as Lydia seemed to appear out of nowhere at his elbow, glaring suspiciously as the girl practically broke out in a sprint down the hall. “As I’ve said many times.”

 

“That hurts, you know,” he clutched at his heart. “I’m on the Dean’s list.”

 

She turned to look at him cryptically before she said slowly, “You do realise we don’t exist in a vacuum, right? Sometimes I think you guys don’t realise we’re in high school.”

 

“Of course we do,” Scott said, shifting his pile of books. “I’ve got a chem test today and I’m totally going to fail and get grounded. I can’t forget I’m in high school.”

 

  “I meant you guys seem to forget there’s a whole student body and you guys have become the weird ones in this school.”

 

“Hey, I’m still the last normal human one here,” Stiles said. “You guys are the weird ones, no offense Allison. And now you’re even weirder with your key party vibe.”

 

“Hey,” the sedated smile on Isaac’s face twisted into a scowl. “Like you can say anything. Did you like the breakfast? Derek spent all night figuring out how to work the oven and almost burned the place down.”

 

“The day you aren’t the weird one in this group is the day something becomes divisible by zero,” Lydia gripped Cora’s elbow and tugged her down away. “Come on, before we get pulled into the rumours.” Stiles noted she didn’t take Allison away from the mess but the taller girl just shook her head with a fond smile.

 

“Don’t worry about Lydia, guys.” Allison twisted to glance at her watch. “Come on, we should get to class.”

 

“She does have a point though,” Stiles said as they started to move.“The last thing we need is more attention. Let’s just try and let everything settle before you all come out as sister wives or whatever.”

 

“I think you mean sister husbands,” Scott corrected then frowned. “Wait, that’s not right either.”

 

After school meant after lacrosse practice which meant when Stiles stumbled out to his jeep, all the running and hitting and throwing just reawakening the aches and pains of the Alpha fight that hadn’t quite healed, he found Derek blocking him in with the SUV. Stiles knew his heart thumped a little differently because Scott shot him a weird look.

 

Stiles wasn’t a werewolf but he knew the second Derek noticed him because the scowl faded a little and there was a twitch in his eyebrow. Heat flushed through Stiles’s stomach because that was definitely a come hither look.

 

Breakfast muffins weren’t the only bonus to dating Derek Hale, his cock suddenly remembered, and just like that all the sore muscles and bruises couldn’t stop him from making a beeline to that SUV.

 

Cora was leaning against the car as well, her look also directed at Stiles but less sexy and more terrifying. His steps faltered a little. Scott peeled off from Isaac and Stiles to head towards his bike but before Stiles could reach the car, Cora had already made her way over to him with a cloud of d _anger danger_ encompassing her every move. 

 

“Come on,” she grabbed Stiles by the elbow, dragging him sideways so he banged his head on his own lacrosse stick. “You are going to teach me what the hell a factorial is or so help me God that stupid math woman is going to lose a testicle.”

 

“Wait!” Stiles tried to protest but she was already shoving him through the driver’s side of the jeep. He only had a moment to look mournfully at Derek and one last appreciating one at the way Derek was filling out his jeans today before Cora slammed the door shut.

 

It took three hours of tutoring before he managed to convince Cora that she was not alone in her feelings about exponents, Shakespeare and structure of the US senate. He knew it wasn’t Cora’s fault she was so far behind. She had been a mini-drug trafficker since she had gotten out of sippy cups; her education had taken a back seat to survival. She had already broken down once, which is to say she ripped Stiles’s economic textbook in thirds. He had made a crack about her and Derek and their disrespect for the written word and she had nearly taken his head off before apologising through clenched teeth.

 

“It’s fine!” Stiles scooted the wheels of his chair back until he hit and nearly knocked over the overflowing laundry basket by his desk. “No problem, just, you know, if you could put away the teeth we can just get back to—“ he picked up one of the pages now scattered across the floor, “Economic Reform in—well, I guess what region of the world it’s in doesn’t really matter, right? Money is universal.”

 

She looked around the room, taking the paper before looking back at him. Something unusual flashed across her face, almost like a fleeting guilty look, before she sighed. “Sorry. I’m sorry. School is just harder than I thought it would be. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”

 

It was nice to hear an actual apology so Stiles leaned back in his chair to revel in it. Unfortunately, that was the tipping point for the laundry basket and it spilled over, muddy jerseys and greying socks seeming to multiply as they rolled free of the tight, compact basket. Stiles had been avoiding it too long.

 

“Seriously?” Cora grumbled as Stiles scrambled to cram it all in again. “I’m barely gone and you’re already behind on chores.”

 

“You sound like my dad.”

 

 “I know for a fact he’s not much better. Here.” Stiles grabbed the last stray tee shirt and looked up to where she was making an impatient grabbing gesture. “Come on, I’ll run a few loads for you two before you save Beacon Hills from mythical creatures with your stench alone.”

 

Stiles had a moment where he felt like he should refuse out of manly pride but he was running low on clothes and it wasn’t like Cora hadn’t been living here for a while. He handed over the basket and she grinned. He wondered, suddenly, if she didn’t miss the routine of the Stilinski house too. He knew it was nice to feel needed and he returned the grin.

 

“I’m going to grab your dad’s stuff too,” her smile brightened. “Maybe I’ll reorganise your cupboards too.”

 

He decided to use the time she was downstairs to order a new textbook online. He heard her laughing, his father was downstairs, and he vindictively decided to use the credit card with Derek’s name that he had seen peeking out of a side pocket of her bag. He paused, checking to make sure she wasn’t coming back right after putting the clothes in the machine, and quickly browsed through the Amazon bargains more thoroughly.

 

After he had typed HALE into the payment information field, he reached for his phone instinctively to send a text but forced himself to place it down again. He wasn’t exactly sure how this thing they had worked and he wasn’t going to let his inexperience run away with him. He could see Derek’s name on his contact list, and his knee twitched with nervous energy. One text would be okay. He could thank him for the muffin. That was common manners, not over obsessiveness. He had learned from Lydia. Play it cool.

 

He tapped out something he hoped was witty about blueberries and fumbled, nearly dropping his phone as he hit send, when the door opened. More time must have passed than he thought because Cora was holding Stiles’s clothes, folded and fresh smelling.

 

“I’ve been thinking,” Cora dropped the basket on the floor. “Is it too late to sign up for distance courses?”

 

“You were the one that was all jealous before,” Stiles pointed out moodily. Her face was too tired to make her glare very terrifying. “School is good for you. You can socialise, meet people your age who aren’t out to kill you all the time.” She didn’t answer and he sighed. “Come on, I can give you a ride back to the apartment.”

 

“That’s okay,” she said quickly, her mood changing quickly at the prospect of being finished. Stiles frowned.

 

“Why, do you have somewhere else to be? Hot date?”

 

“I’m socializing,” she said but instead of the accompanying eye roll Stiles was used to, she sounded almost cagey. Stiles sat up straight, interest replaced with a sudden stab of fear because, _oh crap there was still a Big Bad_ , but Cora wouldn’t meet his eye. She pulled out a bottle from her bag. She sprayed a bit on her wrists and then, as if an afterthought, sprayed a cloud over Stiles’s head. It was nice, something fancy, brand name and obviously from Lydia, but Stiles wrinkled his nose and batted away the particles as they cling to his clothes.

 

“What the hell was that for?” he sneezed. She was busy, peppering the rest of his room and his bed.

 

“I’ve been gone too long, this room is starting to smell like boy.”

 

“Fortunately I can solve that mystery,” Stiles thumped himself on the chest.

 

“If you see Derek tell him not to worry, I’ll be back at the apartment soon.”

 

“Cora,” Stiles said but she already had a foot out the window. “Cora! My dad’s home, he saw you, you can _use the door_ , for God’s sake!” She was already gone and Stiles closed the window after her, frustrated. She was the one who had come to him, she had been the one to drag him into this whole stupid Hunter mess. It was dumb, now, to continue with the secrecy and if he could just get one night without waking up in a cold sweat he would have the energy to confront her about it.

 

Tomorrow. Tomorrow he would check base with Lydia because at least he knew she could be relied upon.

 

Before he could get too worked up over it, there was a knock on the glass and he threw the window open without checking, still a bit peevish at being brushed off. “What, did you forget the condoms or something—shit!”

 

He tripped back into the room, recovering his balance before he could fall and looked even stupider in front of Derek who just quirked an eyebrow. “Jesus Christ, warn a guy!”

 

“I did knock,” Derek said. “Can I come in?”

 

“Yeah, of course, stop letting the warm air out!”

 

Derek climbed in awkwardly and shut the window. Stiles quickly took two large steps across the room to shut his bedroom door before his father could walk past. When he turned around, Derek was standing there with his hands awkwardly shoved into the pockets of his leather jacket and was sniffing the air curiously. “I thought Cora was here.”

 

“You mean you didn’t see her leave, like, five seconds ago?” Stiles clicked his lock into place just for good measure. “You suck as a werewolf.”

 

“Of course I saw her,” Derek snapped. “I just meant—never mind. Where was she going?”

 

Stiles stepped back from his door. There hadn’t been any movement from where his father was working in the den downstairs, now reconverted back into the case file room, which meant Stiles had been overreacting. Again. “None of my business,” Stiles shot out. He took a breath, it was hardly Derek’s fault his sister kept secrets. “Thanks for the muffin by the way. I sent you a text.”

 

Derek nodded without saying anything then continued to stand there, staring at everything in the room but Stiles. He looked puzzled, sniffing. Stiles waited, feeling the seconds tick almost audibly in the silent room before he burst out in a moment of frustration, “So, what, did you come here to make out or not?”

 

That got his attention. Derek took a slight step back, finally looking at Stiles like he had said something totally ridiculous instead of exactly what they were both thinking. Enough of that crap, Stiles strode forward, he had been hosting guests in this room for the last several weeks and it had been longer than that since he had managed to get a good jerk off session anywhere but in the ten minute showering time slots they had efficiently scheduled. This was a golden window of opportunity where his father was busy, Scott was much too sedated with all the new three-way sex he was having, and there was almost no chance of Cora stopping by for a second time. He grabbed Derek by the collar of his leather jacket, the zipper biting into his palms and waited, hoping like hell he wasn’t reading this wrong.

 

If kissing Derek was going to be different every time, Stiles didn’t think his brain could contain all the memories. The second Derek tilted his head to press his lips against Stiles, something in his spine felt like it turned to water. The hands gripping Derek weren’t to pull him close any more, they were to hold Stiles up. He felt Derek’s hands come to rest on his hipbones, his thumbs brushing back and forth along the loops of his belt, soft and tentative until Stiles pushed forward.

 

“Jacket, off,” Stiles pulled away and tried to push back on the leather only to have it catch on Derek’s shoulders. He shrugged out of it, his hands tugging Stiles’s flannel shirt back much more effectively than Stiles had done for him. He shivered, the tee shirt underneath was thin but he didn’t have too much time to be cold before Derek was gripping at his sides and directing him backwards to his bed.

 

There was a déjà vu feeling as Derek pushed him back and he bounced a little but the springs on his bed were blissfully silent. Stiles scooted back until he was against the pillows and Derek paused, taking the time to pull off his shoes and leave them by the bed.

 

There wasn’t much room on the twin so Derek ended up half on top of him anyway and Stiles used gravity to tug Derek closer to his mouth. It was nice, kissing like this, slowly taking the time instead of frantically rutting and Stiles could almost feel the stress of the day drain out of him as Derek slid slow but sure hands up his sides, back and forth until they dragged the material high enough to touch skin. Stiles gasped, breaking the contact between their lips as the touch made his hand spasm against the side of Derek’s face and pull him a little too far forward. Stiles had to fight a moan as Derek slid his hand up further, the warm palm questing over his stomach, ribs, navel against and again like it was stoking a fire. It was distracting, almost too distracting, and it took a minute for him to register that Derek had paused from where he was kissing at Stiles’s neck and started to sniff at the pillow behind his head.

 

“What are you doing?” Stiles’s voice was a little breathless. “Are you smelling my bed?”

 

“No,” Derek denied guiltily and quickly raised himself up to capture Stiles’s mouth in a deep kiss. Stiles let him, for a moment but pulled his head away by the hair.

 

“Why did you smell my sheets? Is my detergent offensive?”

 

“No,” Derek leaned back in but Stiles tilted his head so the kiss landed on his chin. Derek growled. “What’s wrong?”

 

“You were totally smelling my sheets!” The hand on his side had stilled and Stiles mourned for that a bit but he knew better than to let a Hale get away with strange behaviour. “What’s wrong with them?”

 

“Nothing,” Derek insisted and Stiles wanted to kick his insufferable curiosity in the crotch as Derek started to sit up. “It’s nothing.”

 

“It’s something,” Stiles frowned. “It’s never nothing. Seriously, tell me. Should I change them? They’re actually fresh and you should appreciate that for the miracle that it is.”

 

“It’s just—“ Derek paused like it was painful but fortunately for Stiles’s mental health he continued. “You and Cora, on this bed, you didn’t…”

 

Stiles stared, his dick was still half hard and interested so it was a little difficult to make complex mental connections. “We were studying today. She’s really behind. I think Lydia should be tutoring her because I seriously don’t think I can concentrate on schoolwork like she needs.”

 

Derek relaxed. “Oh, yeah, I’ll tell her.”

 

Then it was back to the kissing and no more mystery smelling. Stiles knew there was a reason Scott had been so lovesick and irritating when he and Allison had started dating and he suddenly felt bad for giving him such a hard time. If Stiles had known making out would be like this, a distracting tease that kept all his nerve buzzing with pleasure, satisfaction just out of reach, he would have cut the guy a lot more slack. It was nice, though, to just be doing this. Derek’s body ran hotter than his and he was heavy so after a while he shoved until he found himself the one half sprawled as he slotted a knee between Derek’s. Stiles felt like he could do this for hours as he found himself grinding down almost instinctually.

 

Derek’s hands had long since found their way up his shirt again, running over his spine and the small of his back in a dizzying pattern. They were just starting to toe the line of his jeans when Derek jerked his head away suddenly. Stiles ground down hard on his hip, trying to use his hand to pull Derek’s face back into place but Derek was inexplicably pushing him away with urgency and Stiles finally cleared his head enough to realise that— _footsteps on the stairs_.

 

“Closet,” Stiles hissed. “Go!”

 

“I hate your closet,” Derek hissed right back. “It smells like gym socks.”

 

“Ex-fugitive, cradle robbers can’t be choosers,” Stiles shot back and shoved him, barely managing to close the closet door as there was a knock on his bedroom one. “One sec!”

 

Stiles jerked open the lock and the door, opening it just wide enough for his shoulders to squeeze through. He father gave him a dithering look. “I thought I said when Cora was here the door had to be open.”

 

“She’s not,” Stiles protested. ‘She was here, I mean, earlier but she left so,” he thumped the door frame solidly. “Closed.”

 

The sheriff didn’t look convinced though and placed a firm hand on the door, pushing it open before Stiles could protest. His eyes swept the room in practised ease and Stiles found himself frantically checking to make sure the bed was its normal level of unmade, not making-out-with-a-werewolf unmade. His father just frowned deeper though and looked back at Stiles. “You know, I thought that now the big secret was out all this would go away.”

 

“All what?” Stiles winced because his voice was conspicuously out of breath. “Cora was here and now she’s not. She used the window, it’s like a freaking habit. I’m trying to break them all of it but you know how it goes. You can’t teach an old dog new tricks.”

 

His father raised an eyebrow at that. “Maybe I’ll invest in some bars.”

 

“Did you want something?”

 

The sheriff kept frowning though, his eyebrows furrowed as he took a last look around the room. “I’ve got to go in for something. There was a break and enter and Reynolds said there was something strange about it. You’ll be okay on your own for a bit?”

 

“Yes,” Stiles couldn’t help the eye roll. “I’m pretty sure my math homework and I will be respectfully occupied with each other for the rest of the night. If things get heated I’ll call a chaperone.”

 

Instead of sighing at Stiles’s flippant remarks like he usually would, the sheriff continued to study his face carefully, as if he knew Stiles was hiding something. And the terrible thing was, it didn’t matter that his father knew about werewolves, or that Stiles could now actually tell him about the real reason he was out so late or covered in mysterious bruises. This time the lying felt worse because before Stiles had been doing it out of protectiveness for his father. It had been for a greater good. Now, though, the guilty twist in his stomach wasn’t accompanied by a feeling of _it’s for his own good_.

 

“Call me,” his father corrected him. “If something happens. Okay?” Stiles saluted him, letting out a sigh as his father turned to leave. But before he could exit completely he looked at the closet and for a scary second Stiles thought for sure his father had somehow developed X-ray vision. “Isn’t your closet door usually open?”

 

“It’s making my room smell like gym socks,” Stiles managed to scoff.

 

The sheriff relaxed. “You’ve got to start doing your own laundry again. I can’t believe you make Cora do it.”

 

“I made her do nothing,” Stiles scoffed. “Now get out of here, before your deputies burn down the town.”

 

Derek didn’t open the door until Stiles heard his father’s car pull out from the drive way. It had been a close call but as soon as Stiles saw the red mark on his neck he obviously hadn’t tried to heal the guilt of lying was quickly swept away by the memory of how it had felt to put it there. Derek looked startled but grinned toothily when Stiles was the one to push him back onto the bed.

 

***

 

 _His feet were rootless, running, running, running over mossy ground that bounced, reflecting and rejecting him with each thundering footstep. T_ _here were wings following him, drawing after him as he fled with branches slapping at his face. Something was coming, something was coming to lift him up and away and it grew more and more powerful the closer it got but Stiles couldn’t stop himself from running to the same power source as he feet began to lift from the ground, running on air as hooks dug into his bones in an agonising piercing—_

 

“Here.”

 

The last time someone had snuck up on him and said those words Stiles had bruises for a week. He woke up out of his doze and his hands flew down to cover his crotch reflexively. Lydia stared at him, spiraled notebook still in her outstretched hand.

 

“Sorry,” Stiles stifled a yawn. “Bad memory. What’s that?”

 

“It’s that translation,” she dropped in on his desk, impatient. “The one you asked me for.”

 

“Which one?” Stiles looked at the notebook groggily. “The one from Peter a million years ago or the one I got assaulted with.” Lydia studied his face for a moment but he was too tired to care.

 

“The first one. You said Deaton gave you the other one.”

 

“And he did,” Stiles rubbed his eyes remembered the lie too late. “Violently.”

 

“You know, hyperbole only weakens a person’s credibility,” Lydia looked cross. “I’m sorry helping you solve all the mass murders in this town forced me to take my time with translating an entire book from turn of the century German into English. You’re welcome, by the way.”

 

“Thanks,” Stiles sighed but she was already moving towards her own chair in the back of the room. “Sorry,” he muttered as he flicked open the notebook. It was neat and organized, like all the things Lydia did with page and picture references carefully labeled next to the neat block print letters. Stiles hadn’t thought this book for a while actually but now that it was open to a random page under a heading titled “Austrian vampire” and his interest was quickly engaged.

 

It was hard to get through the rest of the day with all the new knowledge itching under his fingertips. Finstock called him out for watching porn on his phone because he kept grinning at the words in his lap, but the teacher just gave him a horribly confused look when he glanced through the notebook himself.

 

“Just,” he paused before dangling the notebook between his thumb and finger like it was contaminated. “Just don’t handwrite your final paper, alright? I’ll even let you e-mail it in.”

 

It wasn’t until lunch when he stood between Scott and Cora settled in the cafeteria line he finally managed to tear himself away.

 

“Here,” Scott passed him a Styrofoam cup as they were paying and Stiles stared at it. It was obvious Scott had gone out of his way to get it because the only other thing on his tray was a homemade lunch in a brown paper bag. “It’s coffee. You look like you could use it.”

 

“I took my Adderall this morning,” Stiles sniffed and wrinkled his nose. “You’ve seen me on both, are you sure you’re up for it?”

 

“You look like death,” Cora had her own bag and the lunch lady had shot her a peeved look when she realised Cora wasn’t actually buying anything.

 

Cora looked entirely too cheerful for a girl who had been bitching about homework and classes earlier. He supposed that was part of her nature, adapting to survive but that didn’t mean he had to like the way she waved at Danny, who was sitting in a ragtag group of not his usual friends. Stiles frowned; there was the girl who sat next to him in English, her friend, and a few others he didn’t really recognise. Danny caught him looking and, in an uncharacteristically awkward manner, Danny hastily stood up, nearly spilling his tray, and moved back to where he usually sat with the front line lacrosse players. The girls huddled in a tight group around what looked like a diagram of some sort. Stiles found himself tipping onto his toes to try and see but only managed a glimpse of what looked like cut outs from the yearbook, several faces, and different coloured lines connecting the indistinguishable faces. It looked like something he and his dad cooked up for cases but before he could move closer for a better look, Cora grabbed his elbow and steered him towards their table.

 

“Wait!” Stiles didn’t struggle. “What are they doing?”

 

Cora glanced over at the table again and smirked. “Trying to figure out a mystery. Don’t worry about it.”

 

“I like mysteries,” Stiles said absently, his brain wanting to know but exhaustion keeping him complacent. Then he remembered Cora’s first remark and made a face as he sat down next to Scott. “I don’t look like death, but thanks for that. You really know how to compliment a guy.”

 

“You do look kind of tired,” Scott hid a grin.

 

Stiles took a sip of the coffee, wincing because it was the terrible stuff that came from giant machines and there was nothing to sweeten it. “I haven’t been sleeping well. You know, the nightmares,” he nodded knowingly to Scott.

 

But Scott looked confused. He pulled a sandwich from the bag. “What nightmares? Are you having nightmares?”

 

“We did have a pretty traumatic event,” Stiles said. “Miss Bell had her throat slashed on the stage, my dad was kidnapped and, oh yeah, we traded part of our soul to a tree and died for sixteen hours. Are you seriously telling me you aren’t having any PTSD from all that?”

 

“Well, kind of,” Scott shrugged but he still looked disturbed. “I mean, maybe for a few days but not since then.”

 

Worry started to gnaw in Stiles’s stomach. “What about Allison?”

 

Her name was like a drug and the concerned look on Scott’s face melted into a grin. “She’s great.”

 

“No,” Stiles smacked his arm. “I mean nightmares!”

 

“Oh,” Scott blinked. “Well, I don’t think so. At least, not the nights I’ve been spending with her.”

 

“And there have been a lot of nights,” Cora said dryly as she bit into her own sandwich. Stiles glanced between that one and the nearly identical one in Scott’s hand. Stiles frowned down at the soggy fries he had bought from the cafeteria and scowled at them.

 

“I’m pretty sure if you guys are making some kind of wolf den thing at the apartment you’re required to make lunch for all the pack members.”

 

“You were the one that said you weren’t in my pack,” Cora took another healthy bite and chewed.

 

“I didn’t know there were sandwiches!”

 

“Here,” Scott offered him half. Stiles pushed his fries so they were between them. “Derek’s actually getting pretty good at this pack thing now that he’s not the Alpha.”

 

Stiles chewed, the bread and lunch meats comforting in a way that revived him better than the coffee. “Next time my dad’s on nights I’m sleeping over there too.”

 

Stiles could feel the table still watching them but he ignored it. Lydia was right, they had forgotten they were in high school. They had to do high school things. High school involved cliques and gossip and weird mysteries like that map the girls at the table had. He let himself ponder that for a while. That was fine. It was even kind of normal. That was the thing he could concentrate on and he felt himself relax. Normal, teenager things. He was almost looking forward to it. The Hunters were in translation limbo and he relaxed now that it was out of his hands.

 

***

 

_White butterflies were clouding his eyes. Their wings were soft like clouds and he tried to bat them away even as they disintegrated beneath his fingers. More and more started to surround him._

_He had been climbing something, hand over hand, foot over knees up and up when the sky had turned dark then red and the butterflies had descended on his face._

_“Come on, Stiles,” a girl’s voice, Cora’s, was somewhere, sneering a little. “It’s just math homework.”_

_His limbs felt heavy, rocks were weighing them down, like they were weighted in his veins because he such down to the earth, a million pounds until he couldn’t move, couldn’t squirm. “Certainly not a million,” Lydia was somewhere. “Hyperbole’s are lies.” Then it was down, through the earth and his lungs started to fill with dirt._

_“Jesus, Stiles, you did it wrong,” his father’s voice this time, hurt outweighing the disappointment as Stiles struggled to breath, to tell him it wasn’t his fault but the words kept tumbling down the rocks and dirt piling from his mouth and nose as he tried to suck in air._ _His skin was unravelling like bandages as the pressure of the ground peeled it around with prickly rocks, his body slipping away from him until he was thin, hard bone._

_Something was coming, something drawn up the trees, the branches inky veins on the sky as dirt finally covered his bugling, panicked eyes with grit and scratchy rock._

          Pain shot through his chest as he woke, a cold sweat covering him. For a second he thought he couldn’t breathe, like he tried to pull in a breath but there was no room for it in his chest. Then suddenly the pressure released and he greedily sucked in air alongside the cotton of his pillow. He lay there, gasping, his ribcage sore like someone had punched the wind out of him.

 

          The light flicked on and he closed his eyes against the sudden brightness. “Stiles, is everything okay?”

 

          Stiles took a few more painful breathes, a little afraid that if he spoke he wouldn’t be able to reclaim that air. “Yeah,” he rolled, putting a hand over his heart to steady himself. “Bad dream.”

 

          He glanced up. His father was looking at him, an unreadable expression on his face. “It sounded different.”

 

          Stiles couldn’t help a small chuckle, even if it hurt. “Yeah, well, if you hear weird noises from your teenage son’s room you should be glad it’s just a bad dream.”

 

          He father scowled, a much more welcome look than before. “I thought you were having a panic attack.”

 

          For a second Stiles wondered if that was what it had been. A panic attack while he was sleeping—well, he hadn’t had one for years but then there had been that one with Lydia. Maybe it had reawakened something inside of him, like muscle memory. It certainly hurt like one but he was breathing just fine now with none of the icy-hot fear threaded under his skin like a normal panic attack had. “No, I’m fine. I’m sorry I woke you.”

 

          “I was up,” the sheriff leaned again the wall and rubbed at his eyes. Stiles saw he wasn’t even in his night clothes and had only barely taken off the most uncomfortable parts of his uniform. “That break and enter a the Reynold’s—“ he paused, suddenly looking at Stiles like he was under a different kind of light. “Hey, want some hot cocoa?”

 

          Stiles frowned. Cocoa was saved for special occasions like the chicken pox or bribery. He glanced at his phone which was reading a much later time than most parents would coax their children out of bed. “It’s a school night you know.”

 

          “Oh, right,” the sheriff’s face fell. Stiles sighed, his father really needed to get some adult friends. However, he could never deny his father anything that was important enough for him to forget school nights and threw off his covers.

 

          There was a third of the scotch missing from the bottle but Stiles was pretty sure it hadn’t been opened tonight. That was a good sign, as was the way his father seemed to be forgetting the glass in his hand entirely as he pointed at the photos tacked onto the wall in the den. Stiles winced as he sat on the creaky couch.

 

          “So, that break and enter the other night, I told you it was weird right?”

 

          “Yeah,” Stiles took a sip and eyed the scotch. He wondered how deep into the case his father had to get to not notice a shot or two missing.

 

          “We’ve had a few complaints from the supermarket, food missing and such,” his father pointed down the string timeline he had made, dates and times tied onto the red wool. “So they changed their locks, hired a guard and that was it. We just thought it was a homeless guy or something and because there was no money missing we didn’t pursue it.”

 

          “Sounds reasonable.”

 

          “But then,” his father tapped a file on the table accusingly. “Then there was a break in almost a week ago. Food missing. All the valuables still there, computers, TVs, everything. In fact, the only reason we got called was because the mother woke up from a bad dream and went get something to drink when she noticed all her milk was gone.”

 

          “Her milk?” Stiles repeated, still fuzzy. “You guys got called because one of her kids put an empty carton back.”

 

          “Breast milk,” his father made a face. “Something a bit more specific. We thought it might be some kind of pervert so we started to move the investigation in that direction,” he trailed his finger along the timeline. “Then the other night we got another call.”

 

          “Another milk thief?” Stiles raised an eyebrow but his father gave him a stern look.

 

          “A man was brought to the hospital due to chest pains. His girlfriend was coming back late and said she saw someone run out the window. We thought it was just stress with the ambulance and such but when we took a look around—“ he flipped open a folder. There were several pictures of a granite kitchen, nice and modern, much cleaner than their own kitchen. Stiles didn’t quite know what he was supposed to be looking at—clean dishes or something—when he noticed the evidence number on the ground. It was hard to see but there was definitely a footprint in something that looked like a puddle.

 

          “Still not really seeing it, dad. Are you sure this is cocoa worthy?”

 

          “That’s milk,” he said, clearly fed up with waiting for Stiles to catch on. “Two adults in the house and both have feet that are much too large for this. And when we looked in the refrigerator—“ he pulled out another glossy image, this time a picture inside the fridge with a red carton of milk on its side, clearly empty and put back in a hurry. “See?”

 

          Stiles sighed, pretenses gone as he reached for his father’s abandoned glass next to the folder and dumped the amber liquid into his mug before his father could protest. “What exactly do you want me to say? Aha! Of course! The milk-stealing cat monster! I’ve seen it a dozen times before!” he raised his mug to his lips but before he could take a sip his father snatched it out of his hands. “Hey!”

 

          “Don’t ‘hey’ me,” his father sounded grumpy as he took a deep mouthful from the mug and winced. “I’m new to this whole magic business,” he grimaced at the words and took another deep drink. “Cut me some slack.”

 

          It was true, the sheriff had been trying. It hadn’t been easy, sitting down and explaining a year’s worth of oddities and strange crimes. Stiles knew he didn’t help with it either. He had tripped over events, skipping forward and back because some things just seemed unimportant now. But his father had listening, even taking notes though Stiles hated to think what would happen if a defense lawyer ever got hold of that book. It was like his father was trying to apologise by taking everything so seriously.

 

          There were dark circles under the man’s eyes and though his hands were steady there was something off about him. This was why Stiles had kept all those secrets, this was why he wanted his father far, far away from these things. The man thought too much, it was a hazard of the job. Stress led him to the scotch and police work had been stressful enough when he had just been dealing with natural elements. There was a sick twist in his stomach when he saw the way his father absently started to drink, his brow furrowed in frustration at not learning fast enough.  

 

          “I’ll look into it,” Stiles said. “Just promise me you’ll sleep.”

 

          “You know you used to think there was a monster living under your bed,” the sheriff frowned into the mug, now nearly empty. “You used to crawl in with your mom and I because I kept the gun locker under my bed.”

 

          “Yeah, well, now I’ve got a whole locker full of mountain ash, wolfsbane and an enchanted axe under my bed,” Stiles yawned. “So if you hear monsters you should come to me.”

 

          His father gave a small laugh but Stiles hated the way he looked so old when Stiles went back up to his bed and the sweat-damp sheets that awaited him.

 

***

 

          The Hale/Laghey apartment actually wasn’t that bad. It was in a rather nice part of town, a more urban setting that Stiles had ever seen Derek. There were three bedrooms, an open concept kitchen and dining room in the back and a decent sized living room in between. Cora had the front room closest to the door, Isaac’s was on the other side next to the bathroom and Derek’s was at the back, through the kitchen, and had its own en suite and balcony door. Stiles got the layout. Cora was protecting the door, Isaac’s room was most soundproof and Derek paid the rent. But he didn’t really start to appreciate the fact that Derek’s room was so separate until he knocked on the door with his lacrosse stick one day after practice, the search for lactose-craving monsters open on his phone, a doughnut dangling from his mouth as he flicked through it absently with one hand and all his dirty gear in the other.

 

          Derek answered, his nostrils flaring unattractively as he gave the mud splattered shoulder pads a dirty look. “What the hell is that doing here?”

 

          Stiles went to answer, biting through the doughnut before remembering why he had been holding it in his mouth in the first place and it was only due to Derek’s reflexes he didn’t end up coated in powdered sugar. He chewed and swallowed quickly. “Hey, we’ve got to take care of our equipment or coach will drop us down a full letter grade.”

 

          Derek looked like he wanted to keep blocking the door but he moved reluctantly and Stiles slipped through the small space. The apartment was a little sparse but definitely better than anywhere else Derek had furnished. The couch was new and Stiles could still smell the new plastic of the TV but it at least was starting to look like a home. Besides the new TV there was a fresh smell in the air, lilacs or something, and he took an appreciative sniff. “Can I use your washing machine? The last time I put my jersey through like this ours broke down for a week.”

 

          There was a pained sound but Derek nodded, already stealing the last of Stiles’s doughnut. It w _as_ true, the whole thing about his own ancient machine. With Cora gone both he and his dad were back to cramming as much in the machine as possible to cut down on washing time and the thing was on its last legs. But more than that, Stiles was starting to seriously considering trading tutoring for detergent. His father may have joked about it before but whatever Cora had been using had made his clothes smell so much better than when he did it himself. He grinned when he spotted the bottle on the shelf.

 

He could feel Derek glaring at him from across the hall and he grinned, dumping more detergent than was strictly necessary as he tried to stretch out the process. “You came here just for my machine,” Derek said.

 

“It’s a good machine,” Stiles spun the dial to a random setting. He could feel the eye roll before Derek stalked over behind him and fixed it on a number. He enjoyed the heat of Derek against his side. There was a bit of powdered sugar on his cheek and Stiles felt an urge to lick it off. He could, he suddenly realised. Scott and Isaac were stuck doing extra laps for too handsy with their contact practice on the field and Cora would be sneaking around with Johan for at least a little longer.

 

          If there was one thing mutual hand jobs had taught Stiles it was that he should seize every opportunity for them.

 

          It didn’t seem to take much convincing. Stiles pushed at Derek’s shoulders until they were through the kitchen, only knocking over one chair, and into Derek’s bedroom.

 

          The bedroom was rather nice as well, muted greys and red making it seem more permanent and masculine and the double bed meant when Stiles pushed Derek on it, he could bounce comfortably without hitting his head on the wall. Stiles wasted no time unbuckling his belt but he paused when he saw Derek just smirking, unmoving at him.

 

          “What?” he flushed. “Come on, we’re on a time limit here. I’ve got a very narrow window until my dad starts sending out the deputies and I’m pretty sure he’s starting to replace some rounds with silver bullets.”

 

          “I thought you’d be with Cora now,” Derek said.

 

          Stiles rolled his eyes because there were too many words and not enough nudity for him. “Lydia is taking over the tutoring.” He tugged his shirt over his head. Normally Stiles would be a little self-conscious of doing that after a practice surrounded by marble sculptured werewolves like Isaac, Scott and mere mortal gods like Danny, but lacrosse sometimes had a dizzying adrenaline after kick. It didn’t matter that he couldn’t count every sinew and muscle on his chest, the punishment of running suicides today made everything feel tight and thrumming with energy. He reached for his socks as, finally, Derek started to strip.

 

          Stiles knew he was on the clock but it felt like he had more time as he kissed under Derek’s chin, splaying his fingers across the dips and groves of his body. Derek, for his part, seemed patiently amused as Stiles ran his hands along his ribs then sweeping up to his biceps. “What?” Stiles wasn’t annoyed by it, surprisingly, as Derek just lay back and tucked an arm behind his head. “Am I boring you?”

 

          “No,” Derek put his other hand on the back of Stiles’s head, urging him back to where he had been tracing his collar bone with his tongue. “Keep going.”

 

          There was a fine line between going so slow it was embarrassing and wanting to savour every moment but Stiles tried to best to find it. Derek was hard but he ignored it for the most part, only using his hand to hold the erection out of his way as he explored the dip of Derek’s navel. He felt Derek tense up when he took a hold of him so he kept his hand wrapped around him, grip light enough that he could feel Derek’s muscle start shifted restlessly every time he twitched his fingers.

 

          “Stiles.”

 

          Stiles lifted his head. “Little busy here.”

 

          “You’re the one who said we were in a hurry,” there was a strained tone in his voice and Stiles gave an experimental squeeze.

 

          “By my prediction we’ve got another,” Stiles glanced to the alarm clock (because of course Derek went to the trouble of getting an alarm clock instead of using his phone alarm like a normal human being) and his eyes widen. “Crap, like ten minutes and counting.”

 

          Derek hauled Stiles up, bending his knees to help propel him faster until Stiles found himself shuffled so his thighs were spread on either side of Derek’s chest, his own cock now only a few tempting inches from Derek’s mouth. He had a sudden sense memory of just what that mouth felt like and Derek looked at him smugly.

 

          It was a lot harder to not just give in and thrust into Derek’s mouth from his position but when Derek urged him up so he could slide in, he gripped the sheets in an effort to stop himself from doing just that. A strong hand on his hip and another wrapped around the base, fingers spread solid and warm across this abdomen giving him at least a sliver of comfort that even if he passed out from the sheer pleasure Derek would be able to stop himself from choking. Still, it was embarrassing how quickly Derek brought him to the edge of coming when it had been Stiles who had set out to seduce Derek. But either this angle was better or Derek had somehow managed to learn how to deep throat because when Stiles shuddered forward, gravity so not working on his side, Derek took him that much deeper.

 

          “Jesus, what the hell,” Stiles could feel sweat already starting to form along his collar where his arms were shaking with an effort to keep himself up. “How the hell are you so good at this?”

 

          Derek gave some kind of grumbled response that was possibly a retort but felt more like heaven on Earth and Stiles’s arms lost their battle. He tried to fall to the side, he really did, but Derek was strong enough to hold him one handed as Stiles sank to his elbows and came all over Derek’s face and neck. He was trembling as Derek let him go, letting him fall to the side press his aching dick into the mattress, half curling around Derek’s head. Derek tilted his head back, glaring despite the streaks of white all over his stubble which was suddenly all Stiles could focus on.

 

          “I thought I did pretty well the first time.”

 

          “Yeah,” Stiles’s mind felt too blank to properly understand. “Perfect.”

 

          Before he could even think to address reciprocation, the sound of the front door opening and closing felt like a gunshot. Stiles scrambled up, kneeing Derek in the shoulder as he fell over onto the floor and wrestled with the rug for his clothes.

 

          “That did not take ten minutes,” he heard Derek say but just tossed him the maroon shirt on the floor that definitely wasn’t his instead of answering.

 

          “Are they going to be able to tell?” Stiles asked urgently. It wasn’t that he was ashamed of this it was just that—it was one thing for Isaac and Scott to know, because those were definitely the two voices out there, and another thing for them to see Stiles’s come glistening under Derek’s ear. He paused and fumbled with the zipper of his pants when he saw that.

 

          “By sense, no,” Derek sounded annoyed but Stiles could hardly blame the guy. “Those two still have trouble sorting out beef from pork. But yeah,” he raised an eyebrow pointedly at Stiles’s tee shirt which he realised suddenly was on backwards. “I think they’ll be able to tell.”

 

          “You’ve got some—“ Stiles reached out hesitantly then wiped at the stray streak on his neck, flushing as Derek tilted his head for better access. “You should look in the mirror.”

 

          Derek sighed and stood, pushing Stiles at the door. “Go, before they wander in here looking for you.”

 

          Before Scott had been turned they had been able to lean on each other, complaining about the seemingly endless suicides Coach made them run when they missed too many shots. Now, though, it was hard to tell Isaac and Scott had just been put through what Coach liked to call his Apocalyptic Macy’s Black Friday Meltdown routine. And he knew, just knew, they must have decided to run here instead of biking, which was why they were so early and why they looked flushed and excited.

 

          “Hey, Stiles!” Scott clapped him on the back a little too hard. “We saw your stuff.”

 

          “Yeah, my dad bitches when I bring it home,” he sighed as they dropped their own gear. Derek was frowning, fully dressed now and surly-looking as he snapped at Isaac to not spread mud around the apartment. As they bickered lightly about it, Cora came in, also looking flush and fresh from a brisk run as well.

 

          But where Isaac and Scott had been oblivious, Cora was barely in the door before her shocked face went to Derek to Stiles before sliding into a sly grin. Stiles ignored her but he saw Derek flush and stomp back into the kitchen, yelling over his shoulder that he wasn’t their goddamn housemaid and he wasn’t sweeping again. 

         

          “Come on,” Cora grabbed Stiles’s shirt and propelled him towards her room, neatly sidestepping Scott and Isaac trying to straighten their things without making more of a mess. “Just need help with some math!” she called over her shoulder before shutting the door loudly. Cora’s room was smaller, more beige and navy but also much more Spartan than Derek’s, surprisingly. It made sense, Stiles supposed, to a girl who was used to living on the run, but he took a seat on the twin bed gingerly. She fiddled with her phone before turning on music, something fast and new Stiles didn’t know, and turning it on loud. “Sorry,” she didn’t look apologetic at all. “I love this song. So—you and Derek—“

 

          “Yeah, yeah,” Stiles rubbed at his neck embarrassed. “Look, do we have to do this now?”

 

          She glanced at the clock face and nodded. “Yeah, for like twenty minutes. I really do need help with my math.”

 

          Stiles frowned, wanting to ask about what exactly was so important but she had her books open and questions at the ready before he could get a word in. The music was distracting as hell but she refused to turn it off, even when the Jonas brother’s song came on and they slogged through the last few questions with Stiles earning a throbbing headache.

 

          The worst part was, she didn’t even seem to be having any trouble anymore and half way through the last question Stiles finally shut the book her fingers, annoyed. “Dude, look, if you don’t need my help—“

 

          “Johan was wondering about the book,” she interrupted him quickly. “They’re starting to get pressure from back home, the family wants information about Allison and the pack. Did you figure out what’s going on?”

 

          “Wha—“ Stiles felt a vein throbbing in his forehead. “You mean the unknown curse with no hints, no background, no help and written somewhere in a foreign diary I don’t speak the language of? No! No I haven’t figured it out. I’ve been a little wrapped up with, you know, the _Alpha Pack_ , a evil crazy English teacher and, oh yeah, you _dying_.”

 

          Cora sobered at his harsh tone. “Sorry, yeah, I forgot about that.”

 

          “Well, some of us don’t have the luxury of forgetting all these things,” Stiles knew he was being a little mean but she was the one who was insisting on this secret and Stiles was fed up of them. “What the hell were _they_ doing during all of that? We could have used some backup.”

 

          “I told them to stay away,” Cora said quickly. “I didn’t want them to be dragged into things if they didn’t need to be.”

 

          “Well, lucky them,” Stiles sighed and rubbed at his temples. The bad sleep from that night combined with the strange midnight conversation with his father hadn’t set up him properly for the day. He was angry at them for getting back so early because all he wanted to do was push Derek down on his bed again and continue just exploring. Weren’t they supposed to get a honeymoon phase? His skin felt itchy like he was being spread too thin between his father, Cora’s Hunter problem and trying not to think too hard about how much the wonder threesome was getting laid more than him. “Lydia is getting through the book; go bug her if you want answers.”

 

          “Okay.”

 

          “And tell Derek about Johan, I’m sure he’ll be fine with it now,” Stiles tried for a kinder tone but knew he was failing. “He wouldn’t have cared before, either.”

 

          “I will, sure,” she said evasively and took her notebook back from Stiles, the last question still only half answered.

 

When she finally let him go she stopped him, right before he could escape and kissed him on the cheek. He scrubbed at the skin, his body feeling badly hardwired for skin contact right now, as she shut the door firmly.

 

          Allison had shown up at some point and the three of them were sitting on the couch, the TV on to some kind of teen drama. It was obvious none of them were paying attention to anything but sneaking looks at each other but the only person Stiles really noticed was Derek, standing in the doorway of the kitchen with a frustrated expression on his face.

 

          Stiles wondered if there was a polite way to sneak back into Derek’s room and finish what they had started, occupied apartment be damned, but instead Derek held out his jersey, warm but still a little damp from where he had taken it out of the dryer too soon.

 

          “Here,” he practically shoved it into Stiles’s chest. “It’s getting late, your father is going to wonder where you are.”

 

          Stiles really just wanted to drop kick the jersey across the room and push Derek back through the kitchen again because it felt like he was going to unravel if he didn’t but Derek, of course, was right. He grabbed his things and said a quick goodbye to the other three before going down to his car, muttering angrily to himself the whole way.  

 

***

 

_There was something chasing him, razor sharp insect wings flapping against the back of his calves, driving him forward. There was blackness all around, he couldn’t see what he was running on, he could only hear the buzzing in his ears see sickly yellows and greens of fireflies flying into his eyes._

_“I kind of had a crush on you, you know,” Erica was somewhere out there, waiting for him. He stumbled, panting and tired as his legs felt numb until the razors cut into them, driving him forward._

_Clink, clink, there were bottles around him. “I want to do it,” Heather’s voice was breathless as well. Glass shattered on the ground but it didn’t slow him down as he ran over it, cold wetness on his feet like raindrops as he bled._

_It felt like his chest was in a cinch, thin bands of pressure tightening around his ribs as he tried to draw a breath, dizzying white as sharp needles drew over his face and neck, letting blood flow down his skin like a spring._

_There, the tree was pulsing, vibrating his skin until it sloughed off, a painful wet sensation as it splatted on the ground, unable to follow him as he kept going, his blood pumping out and out now with nothing to contain it. His body was failing, flailing as he tried to move it but it fell apart as if under some other party and all he could do was fall numbly to the ground, the last weak pump of his heart welling blood out of his eyes, ears and nose._

          Stiles woke up to a coppery tang in his mouth as he bit through his lip. He was on his back and when he tied to move it felt like his body was locked tight, as if someone else was holding the keys to movement and his brain was merely a passenger. He wonder briefly if this was what dying was and his brain was going to just detach, leaving his body a solid rock-like lump under the sheets. But then a ripple of yellow-feeling bubbles started under his fingers and worked its way inward, like acid crawling up and over his joints releasing them to pins and needles until he could move again. He rolled to his side as he choked, breathing in the scent of blood with the stale, sweat smelling air.

 

          This was worse than the nightmares before. At least those made sense. The tree, the fog: all standard affairs. Stiles struggled to breathe; feeling bruised all over as he touched a shaky hand to his lip. He felt like he hadn’t been asleep at all and exhaustion started over his brain in a cloudy wave but the fear of that numbness made him force his body to roll until he fell out of the bed with a loud thump.

 

          He waited for a minute but he didn’t hear any movement from his father’s room. The man had been drinking, something that was making Stiles worry because he usually didn’t drink like this two nights in a row. At least, not in a long time. The case was bothering him and Stiles had seen old boxes in the den, unsolved cases his father was going over with a new eye. For a second Stiles wished for the time when Cora being part of the drug cartel had been the most outlandish solution his father could think of.

 

          Stiles sat on the floor flexing his hand on his chest just to prove he could. He wondered if the dreams were happening from the stress or something else. Dreams were a reflection of the soul, or so he had heard. He wondered for a moment if the soul lobotomy had taken something important. He knew he should see Deaton but his brain still felt fried and he knew there was no way he could talk himself into sleeping again tonight.

 

          He stood on shaky legs and had to use the wall for support as he went downstairs. There was a pot of old coffee he had forgotten to throw away and he dumped it into a mug and then into the microwave. It was barely lukewarm but it was enough and after the first toe-curling bitter taste he frowned and reached into the fridge for the cream, looking accusingly at it for being empty.

 

          The caffeine always felt like it hit his bloodstream faster the worst it tasted so by the time he managed to make his way back into his room he felt more charged than before. He hadn’t bothered to turn on the nights when he left but he flicked them on and nearly fell backwards when he saw Derek sitting on his bed flicking through a comic.

 

          “What the hell?” Stiles wasn’t sure if it was the coffee or the fear but his heart felt like it was going to explode from his chest. His hand had gone for the steel baseball bat Cora had left behind and he shut his door quickly in case his father actually woke up. “Jesus, it’s called knocking.”

 

          “Your window was open,” Derek closed the comic without a rustle and took in his appearance with a frown. “In winter. You look terrible.”

 

          “You look like Hannibal Lector,” Stiles snapped back. His shirt was damp and chilly so he tugged it off. “Why are you here so late?”

 

          “I can leave,” Derek shifted off the bed but a paused as he took a good look at Stiles’s chest. Whatever confidence Stiles had had earlier had faded with the exhaustion. He reached for a clean shirt from the folded pile in the laundry basket, still not put away from when Cora had done it, and went to tug it on and let the fresh smell of flowers revive him but Derek stopped him. Derek reached out hesitantly and traced finger across his chest. Stiles jumped at the flash of unexpected sore sensation “That mark-- Is that from—“ There was a weird blank expression on his face.

 

          Stiles didn’t know what the hell he was talking about but smacked his hand away sharply. “Don’t leave, just, wait a sec, okay?” He pulled the shirt on, then a hoodie, grateful for the extra layer of warmth. Derek must have been right, the window must have been open earlier because the room was much too cold. He didn’t remember leaving it open but then again he had downed two Redbulls on top of his pills as he poured through the translated bestiary, scanning and cataloguing to keep his mind off the train wreck his father had been driving in the den. “I need to shower or something.” He paused before leaving the room and glared at Derek who had been inching towards the window. “Sit,” he pointed at the bed. “Stay,” he ordered with a wag of his finger and Derek sighed.

 

          He scrubbed quickly, already feeling better as the clammy sweat of the nightmare washed off easily. At least he would know if his father was going to wake up at all if he didn’t wake up from the sound of the shower. If nothing else, he would come out to crack jokes and wet dreams and the joys of being a teenager just to embarrass him but when Stiles shut off the water there was no sound from the hallway. He thought about putting his nightwear back on but hesitated and just wrapped a towel around his waist and carried his clothes. It wasn’t like he wanted to sleep anymore tonight.

 

          Derek had stayed and the room had heated back up with the window properly closed. The sweaty bed sheets had been balled up and put in the laundry basket and somehow Derek had found clean sheets for the bed. His jacket was off and draped over the chair and his boots were lined up neatly at the end of the bed. He glanced up over the comic he had picked up again and Stiles smirked when he lowered the comic with a little less grace than before.

 

          There were no interrupted this time as Stiles finally managed to lick up Derek’s cock. He was trying to concentrate on making it feel good, first using lube on his hand but regretting it when he tasted it. Still, Derek didn’t seem to mind when he cursed and had to clean off to start over, though it still had the rubbery taste. Under that, though, was a good taste, a better one of skin, heat, and something salty. Derek’s hands were in his hair, quietly patting and tugging him, encouraging and sometimes helpful but often in the way. Stiles’s jaw got sore quickly and the cut along his lip stung but he pushed through gamely until Derek pulled him up and rolled over him.

 

          “What happened?” his kisses were faster and a little uncontrolled which was good because they matched how Stiles felt. Derek’s cock was wet with precum and Stiles’s saliva which sparked him to a whole new level of turned on as Derek rubbed against his hip. Stiles didn’t know what Derek meant for a second until he ran his tongue along the cut and Stiles winced.

 

          “Bad dream,” he panted quietly. “I bit my lip.”

 

          Derek frowned and the next time he kissed it the pain ebbed away. Sharp laces of pleasure ran through his skin instead and he felt Derek smile before he kissed the moan before it could work its way out of Stiles’s mouth.

 

          To Stiles’s gratification, Derek came first this time, with a quiet groan and pulses as Stiles wrapped his hand snuggly around him and tugged. He had been licking across Stiles’s chest, alternating between one nipple and the next, biting at surprisingly sensitive skin. It didn’t take much more for Stiles, a few quick tugs slick with Derek’s come and he was gone, lifting his wrist to bite at it so he didn’t make too much noise.

 

          Derek disappeared to turn off the light before Stiles could tell him he didn’t plan on sleeping, thank you, and kindly leave it on, but the protest didn’t quite make it out of his throat beyond a whimper. Derek slipped under the covers, Stiles’s towel from earlier cleaning them both off before he threw it into the basket with the sheets and spooned up Stiles from behind.

 

***

 

          Stiles’s eyes felt heavy but it was the pain in his chest when he moved that force them open. It wasn’t like the earlier a breathing kind of pain but a bruising kind of pain and when he touched the skin around his nipples he winced. It was strange to wake up with another person so close but it was helpful to have that person in kicking range when he felt they needed one.

 

          “Dude, I’m a fragile human, next time contain your teeth,” he could feel Derek waking up, bare skin that had felt warm and comfortable the night before sticky and sweaty after several hours in close quarters. He felt the yawn on the back of his head, hot hair brushing through the short shorn hairs there until Derek nuzzled closer, a hand drifting up to poke at the littered bite marks artwork all over Stiles’s chest.

 

          _Then_ Stiles realised he was waking up with _another person in his bed_ and that the smell of bacon downstairs hadn’t been made by itself. He threw himself off the bed, managing to grab the towel from the floor and wrapping it around himself. He heard Derek’s grunt of protest but there was no time for that. That was bacon, it was just as sacred as cocoa and the last time he had sat down for a proper breakfast with his father it had been because they had both nearly been killed by a druid in a magical storm. Something was up, definitely wrong, and Stiles threw himself at his clothes.

 

          “Dude, you’ve got to go.” Boxers, jeans, shirt, flannel hoodie— there were too many steps to his wardrobe and the bite marks over his chest ached as he dug through looking for some semblance of matching. He heard shuffling behind him as Derek finally moved.

 

          It was probably the wrong way to handle a booty call but Derek had to know what he was getting into when he was sneaking around with the sheriff’s son. Stiles barely stopped him as he started halfway out the window. “Sorry,” he said quickly and dragged Derek into a closed mouth, morning breath kiss. Derek was stiff but softened a little as he returned it and then was gone without a word.

 

          Clothes in place, Stiles mourned for his buzzcut days as he tried for some kind of style in his hair before giving up and going down the stairs two at a time.

 

          “Hey!” the reprimand sounded normal. “If you break your neck on those I’m not driving you to the hospital.”

 

          “Sorry,” Stiles felt whiplash, saying the word twice to two very different people but shoved the weirdness aside. “But—bacon?”

 

          “Yeah,” the sheriff even looked normal. He was dressed and showered, nothing to suggest his late night habits. “Look, we’ll switch back to turkey bacon next week but a man’s got to deal with his stress somehow.”

 

          Stiles knew he should protest but he was too relieved to see his father up and walking around like nothing was strange between the two of them. He went for the plates, the whole routine unfamiliar but comforting and they settled down to eat. The conversation was light: Stiles talked about school and lacrosse, the sheriff made fun of his love life as if the Hales had never existed. For a second Stiles wondered if he was finally dreaming restfully. He even managed to wash the dishes before they both had to leave for school, his father informing him that he was on nights for the next few days and to have a good day at school.

 

          Normal. It was normal in a way that wasn’t normal but was as helpful as having a control group in a lab experiment. Stiles couldn’t help but hum with the radio as he drove, even the weather sunny and unusually warm for this time of year. He should have known, damn it.

 

          There was a bend in the road on the way to the school next to a park with a bush right along the curb. It was a hazard because kids playing sometimes kicked balls or ran out without looking and it was a bit of a blind corner. So when Stiles saw a flash of dark hair and a jacket right before the thump he had a terrified moment that he had hit a kid.

 

          He was out of his car, fear making all the words he wanted to say bottleneck in the lump in his throat. But before he could even move to see, a person stood up, adult sized he wasn’t ashamed to let out a deep breath of relief, and used the hood of the jeep to steady herself. It took a second to recognise the curly hair and strong jawline as Ria. She was rubbing at her hand, hissing in pain but all four limbs were moving and there was no blood so Stiles felt his knees go weak a little.

 

          “Oh my God!” he found his voice. “We look both ways in this country, you can’t just run out on the road like that!”

 

          She said something in German and it sounded angry but Stiles wasn’t sure he could differentiate between angry and normal German. Then she said, “In car, go, now!”

 

          Stiles was about to reply with more “In America” phrases, most of them with less practical advice and more cursing, but there was the distinct sound of a bowstring letting loose and there was suddenly an arrow sized divot on the hood of his car. “In car, go, now!” Stiles agreed.

 

          Ria didn’t even look at the crack in the window or the deep gouges of the upholstery as Stiles drove too fast for comfort until he was sure he was out of range of the long bow weapons. They had overshot the school and in fact were on the road to the next town over before he felt comfortable enough to ease off the gas petal and take a deep calming breath. He glanced over to his passenger who was taking a closer look at the road burn on her arm. “What the hell was that?”

 

          She looked up, the same irritated look on her face that had been in the forest the night they had kidnapped him. “Arrows.” Her accent was even deeper than her brothers and Stiles felt annoyed she didn’t even seem to have an ounce of gratitude for the fact he had just saved her life.

 

          “I know what the hell arrows are,” he gritted his teeth. “Why the hell were they shooting at you?”

 

          “Anger at me,” she hissed as she started to pick out pebbles. “I don’t have book, they are angry.”

 

          “Book?” Stiles repeated. “The book you gave me?”

 

          “Yes.”

 

          “I thought they didn’t know that you had the book!”

 

          She didn’t bother to look at him. “Turn left, okay?”

 

          “Na uh, nayn, no way,” he said, spotting the ill-fated gas station up ahead and signalling to pull in there. “You are coming with me and we are sitting the hell down with Lydia and have a long, bilingual conversation.”

 

          But before Stiles could pull around, Ria had the door open and was running. He shouted after her but she was gone into the woods, the door still swinging behind her. Cursing, he went to close it and when he sat back he realised there were three cars next to the pump and a whole audience of wide eyed spectators reaching for their phones and dialling in a distinctive three digit number.

 

***

 

          Despite the problems it was causing at home and in their relationship, it was kind of nice having his father in the know. It meant when he came into the interrogation room he looked worried rather than angry and when Stiles told him the abbreviated version (he knew the girl, they were heading to school when she just got out on her own, no he wasn’t a kidnapper, thank you so much everyone for noticing something _this time_ and not the last time when Stiles had been hauled execution style into the woods) he took him on his word.

 

          In the parking lot he said more, that he didn’t really know Ria that well, that she was involved with the Argents, and when the sheriff noticed the divots (there were more, one had busted his taillight when they were fleeing) he tried to smooth over the whole assault-by-arrows.

 

          “Really, though,” he said quickly as his father started to look pale. “Arrows, not that big of a deal. They were horrible shots.”

 

          “I don’t know if I want you in school so there’s a crowd around you or if I want to barricade you in the house,’ the sheriff rubbed at his eyes. Stiles tried to make another joke but instead his father gripped him on both shoulders and gave him a serious look. “Son, I know you worry about my health but I didn’t think I had to worry this much about you. I can’t—“ his voice broke off and he took a deep breath.

 

          “I can go to Derek’s,” Stiles felt off kilter, the morning breakfast feeling like a different day. “He’s like a SWAT team in himself.”

 

          “I never thought the day would come where going to Derek Hale was the safest choice for my son,” his father grumbled. “Fine, but you call me when you get there. I’ll call the school but try to do something scholarly okay?”

 

***

 

          He might be able to pass this off as biology as Derek pinned his hips against the kitchen counter. But that was a coded word wasn’t it? Maybe psychology. He was doing experiments on Pavlovian responses because just the sound of a zipper was enough to make him rock hard now.

 

          To be honest, he wasn’t entirely sure what this was beyond chemical responses and orgasms anyway. Weren’t people in relationships supposed to talk? They had, there had been a greeting in there and Stiles mentioned something about the Argents and arrows but Derek had growled and looked murderous so Stiles had started the making out instead. Much less bloodshed this way. The anger was redirecting in what was certainly a healthier way as Derek seemed to want to check him over entirely to make sure nothing had hit his target. His chosen method was with his mouth and Stiles wasn’t going to discourage that.

 

          When Derek had paused at his stomach, taking an extra-long time pushing up his shirt and rubbing his scratchy chin over it Stiles was a little embarrassed when he remembered he hadn’t showered this morning. Still, if he smelled like anyone at least it was Derek, and no one else was going to catch him out.

 

          “Jesus,” Stiles wasn’t sure he was ever going stay calm at the way Derek looked when he had Stiles’s cock in his mouth. He hoped he was getting better at it though. It was getting easier to handle the onslaught of pleasure, not because he was getting used to it but because he knew how good it could be the longer it lasted. Still, after a few minutes he twisted his hands in Derek’s hair to tug him off because they had a whole afternoon and Stiles had plans.

 

          “What?” Derek let Stiles pull him to his feet but he had a suspicious look on his face like he knew Stiles was scheming for something different. “Not up to your standards?”

 

          “No, you oversensitive baby,” Stiles rolled his eyes. “But a bed is generally considered a more traditional place for a deflowering than a kitchen floor.”

 

          Derek raised an eyebrow but willing followed him as Stiles headed straight for Derek’s room. He wasn’t sure if it was memory of skin on skin last night carried over to this morning or the adrenaline of being shot at but he couldn’t keep his hands off Derek now that they were alone. Derek seemed to sense the frantic pace and grabbed his wrists to still them. “You’re nervous.”

 

          “Full points go to the werewolf with a built in heart monitor,” Stiles said with a frown. “Or maybe I’m just horny. Ever think about that? Come on,” he flapped his hands uselessly. “Clothes off. I feel like I have to keep telling you things you should already be doing.” Derek snorted but let go of his hands and with much more efficiency than the last time they had been in this room he pulled his shirt over his head. It was almost routine enough, this ritual of getting naked before getting busy, but it was a routine Stiles was well content with getting into.

 

          He batted Derek’s mouth away from the still biting marks on his chest as he reached for where he knew Derek kept the lube. Before he could open it, Derek snatched it from his hand and dropped it next to the pillow.

 

          “Hey, that’s essential to the next step,” Stiles protested but Derek kissed him, careless of his teeth so Stiles had to kiss back to avoid injury. It wasn’t that Derek wasn’t with the program though, his hands slid from the middle of Stiles’s back to his ass which he hadn’t realised was so sensitive until just this moment. He had to stop the kiss to breath this time and Derek let him go, squeezing and dipping his fingers in a way that made Stiles shiver.

 

          “So you’re on board with the whole thing?” Stiles managed to gasp out as Derek pushed down and thrust up, rubbing his dick along Stiles’s.

 

          In response Derek flipped them over, grinding down on him just enough to make Stiles dig his fingers into his arm before saying in a low gravelly voice, “Get on your stomach.”

 

          Stiles knew that Derek had slept with other people. It was one of the reasons Cora had ended up under his roof in the first place. But it was one thing to know it and another to _be_ one of those people. There was something that happened to people it seemed when they were in bed. Stiles himself felt like an entirely different person, need and lust making him do things and make sounds he would wince about in embarrassment later. He had never really thought about how another person could bring out these kinds of reactions; sex had always been an abstract equation. But now, with this thing with Derek—it was hard to remember that the guy behind him, slipping slick fingers along the crack of his ass, his erection pushing up behind his balls making small tears form in his eyes as if those two parts of his body were connected by inches instead of feet was the same guy who looked two seconds away from giving him a concussion just a few weeks ago.

 

          “Stop over thinking this,” Derek growled as he forcibly tilted Stiles’s hips to a better angle with his non-slippery hand. “I can feel your brain working.”

 

          Stiles reached for the second pillow on the bed, pushing it under his stomach and hips to make himself more comfortable. “I’m a thinker. We all know this. Just because I’m thinking doesn’t make it a bad thing.”

 

           “I said you were _over_ thinking,” Derek slipped a finger in, just the tip but it did help to chase away the stray thoughts wiggling around in the back of his brain. “Relax.”

 

          “Relax,” Stiles repeated, his voice strained. “Yeah, okay, sure. Just, keep going, okay?”

 

          “If you want to stop—“

 

          “What part of _keep going_ do you not understand?” Stiles bit out before he realised there had been a hint of humour in Derek’s voice. He looked over his shoulder, glared at the way Derek was smiling in a way that seemed out of place but at the same time helped him relax a bit. He tugged the other pillow under his chin, grumbling, “Do you always laugh at the people in your bed or am I just special?”

 

          Derek stilled a little but swallowed and said, “Just let me know if I should stop.”

 

          It was pretty obvious, in fact, that Derek had a lot of practice and far from being jealous now Stiles was happy that one of them knew what they were doing. He was definitely producing sounds he hadn’t ever thought would come from his mouth. On all the pamphlets Stiles had read and reread the hundreds of times he and Scott had been stuck waiting at the hospital or the millions of nights he waited for his dad at the station, sex safety seemed to be a step by step process. One, two, three then a nice happy ending for all. Derek wasn’t doing all those things in order but Stiles was going to defer to his experience if it the whole thing was going to feel this good.

 

          “Jesus,” Stiles was pretty sure he should be saying Derek’s name or something but every time Derek moved his fingers, one or two, fast and slow, sometimes deep sometimes just trailing his fingertips around the edge he wasn’t in control of his own mouth. “Jesus, I’m never going to be able to look at your hands again, so good, fuck—“

 

          Derek pushed at his hip so he was in his side now, lounging forward almost desperately to kiss him sloppily. “Do you ever stop talking?” Derek didn’t sound angry about it but Stiles dug his fingers into Derek’s rib in retaliation.

 

          “What, you want me to shut up?” he panted, hitching a knee over Derek’s hip in an effort to press his dick against something.

 

          “I kind of like you begging like this,” Derek used the angle to push his fingers in the furthest they had been and Stiles felt his toes curl. “Usually you argue with me.”

 

          “Ego stroking,” Stiles said before he had to bite his lip when Derek did something that seemed too magical to be real. “You would like that.”

 

          “And now back to the arguing,” Derek sighed and that’s when he started to work in another finger.

 

          It was dangerous to kiss like this because Stiles was too uncoordinated with his teeth. He couldn’t concentrate and Derek seemed to realise this because he moved down the bed so Stiles was resting his knee in the crook of his neck and started to suck his dick until his eyes rolled back.

 

          By the time Derek pulled off, breathing hard against his hip and he worked three fingers at a stuttering pace in and out of Stiles’s ass, there was literally no way Stiles was going to let anything or anyone interrupt them this time. Scott could burst through the door with a dozen demon-wolves on his tail, Stiles would kick him out until they were done.

 

          It was also a good thing they weren’t on Stile’s bed because there wouldn’t have room for Stiles to sit up and shove Derek flat on his back. As it was, his head dangled precariously over the edge and he shuffled awkwardly to a more stable position as Stiles tried to catch his breath and resist just rutting against Derek’s stomach until he came.

 

          “Here,” Derek passed him the lube and tucked a hand behind his head so he could watch as Stiles slicked him up. Then, with motions that felt more out of body than anything else, Stiles held him steady as he started to sink down.

 

          It wasn’t as alien as Stiles thought it was going to be; Derek had spent a lot of time getting his ass used to the idea and the thing that made him so slow wasn’t pain but the shock of how good it felt. He felt the scrape of nails on his thighs and he grinned when there was just a hint of claws pricking his skin before they disappeared. Dangerous as it was, if Derek hadn’t lost a little bit of control then Stiles would have felt letdown.

 

          Finally there was no more left to take and Stiles dug his nails into Derek’s skin to brace himself because even just breathing, a simple, subconscious thing a minute ago, felt alien as it sent sparks of pleasure shivering down his body.

 

          Derek’s hand was fisting his own hair now, his head tilted back and his mouth open as he breathed, slow and like he had to think about it too, his other hand relaxing its tight grip on Stiles’s thigh. There was a glisten of sweat on Derek’s collarbone and Stiles couldn’t help but lean forward to lick it. The movement left him gasping and the lick turned more into a bite when he couldn’t stop from baring his teeth to suck in a groan.

 

          “Stiles,” Derek’s voice was tightly leased but all pretenses of being cool and collected were thrown out of the window as Stiles felt him grip his ass with both hands, holding Stiles steady as he started to rock up.

 

          “Do it, do it,” Stiles panted and Derek obliged, dragging out only a little before thrusting in, probably barely any movement at all but it felt for all the world like the ground was moving with them. If Stiles were to concentrate he was sure he could feel the burn in his legs or the bruising grip of Derek’s hands pushing him down to meet in an unsteady rhythm but he couldn’t think about anything other than the taste of Derek’s skin and the miniscule movements in his throat as he cursed between half caught moans. It was good, so good, and he could stop reaching between them to grasp his cock.

 

          “Don’t come yet,” Derek said and Stiles couldn’t help but shoot him a disbelieving look.

 

          “Dude, I can’t help it!”

 

          “I’m not your _dude_ ,” Derek grunted and thrust hard on the word, making it really, ridiculously hard to follow his first request. Stiles let go of his cock with an involuntary whine and tried to think of something, anything to stop himself from giving in to the pressure that was rapidly building. Suddenly, Derek sat up, a move that set his dick at some kind of _utterly mindblowing ohmyfuckinggod_ angle and Stiles though for half a second that this was what a heart attack was like, if heart attacks involved sending a million volts into his heart and almost made him black out from the shock.

 

          “Oh, my God, _ohmygod_ ,” Stiles dug his nails into the most sensitive part of his thigh while holding on to Derek’s neck with his other hand like a choke hold. The sparks of pain didn’t decrease the throbbing pleasure shooting through him until his fingers felt numb but it did stop things from turning disastrous. “ _So not helping, dude!”_

 

          Derek either didn’t hear him or was too distracted with holding Stiles tight. His arms were wrapped around his chest, each breath making his ribs expand against the rock hard muscle of Derek’s arms as his hands spanned his shoulder blades, fingers digging into the tops of his biceps as he held Stiles still and closer than ever. His hold was rock steady but Stiles could feel the quivering, uneven breaths that were counter to the slow grind up he was doing with his hips. It was almost suffocating, it would be horrible if he were claustrophobia, but instead of driving him deeper into his own brain it helped to anchor him, sucking in deep, calming breaths.

 

          Derek’s chin was hooked over his shoulder, his bread scratchy on his neck. He was biting at him, alternating between what would have felt like a painful gnawing and sucking if Stiles was capable of sorting out his sensory details right now. Stiles leaned back, trusting that Derek’s strength would keep him from toppling backwards and kissed Derek, suddenly needing to delve further into the man, as if he could get closer. Derek came unexpectedly, his teeth catching Stiles’s bottom lip as he let out an almost pained moan, his eyes closed tight as he jerked up hard.

 

          Stiles had seen Derek come before, he had seen the way his body relaxed like it was a balloon slowly floating back to Earth but there was something different, something lazy and warm in his eyes as his hands slid down Stiles’s back, slow and loose. The grip that had been holding Stiles’s grounded before was now gone and he felt almost buoyant, light headed, and ground down on Derek’s still hard erection in an effort to keep from completely floating away.

 

          “Sorry,” Derek muttered, one hand reaching around his lower back to hold on tight to the junction where his hip met his body and the other slid between them to grip Stiles in a firm, warm hand. It was too slow, but steady and felt all-encompassing. Derek was softening, Stiles didn’t know how much time had passed but his throat felt like it was held in a tight grip too as Derek lazily ran his tongue up and down the veins in Stiles’s neck. Stiles found himself unable to demanded Derek hurry up as the rhythmic movement all but drew his orgasm out of him like water from a well and he was left shivering and achy still in Derek’s lap, the only thing holding him up was his slumped arms still around Derek’s neck and loosely gripping at his hair.

 

He must have dozed because it felt like only a second passed before he was jerking awake, his head inexplicably on one of the pillows, to Derek using a warm damp towel to wipe at the mess. Maybe it was the fact he felt like half his brain had leaked out of his ears but there was a warm rush of fondness as he watched Derek focused hard on his task. He touched the side of Derek’s face and the other man looked up at him, raising an eyebrow, and smirked. The fondness spiked, the warmth turning into a heat, different from before but just as intense, and Stiles pulled him up into a sloppy kiss. 

 

“Did you want to shower?” Derek asked when they finally separated. One hand was still holding the towel on Stiles’s hip, his thumb making subconscious soothing circles, while his other hand was resting on Stiles’s neck. It was making Stiles feel that bite mark, some kind of proof that he hadn’t made the whole thing up and he relished in that for a moment before answering.

 

“Yeah. My dad’s going to check in soon I think and it would be better for him to not find out about this like this.”

 

Derek nodded and sat up. Stiles put on his jeans, he couldn’t shake how weird it would be walking through the apartment where Cora and Isaac lived naked, and carried the rest of his clothes. He showered quickly. He wanted to wash away the evidence, sure, but his father would definitely notice if Stiles took the time to get that freshly showered look. When he got out, the mirror wasn’t even all the way fogged and that’s when he noticed that the bite mark was more than just sensory.

 

Derek was dressed and sitting on one of the non-descript wood stools they had around the kitchen island. He was reading something, the newspaper, and looked loose and comfortable, his bare feet making him look younger, somehow. It was strange how it was the small details that made people seem venerable but Stiles shoved the thought aside as he scowled.

 

“I thought you were a wolf,” he jerked a thumb at the red mark he knew was still prominent on his neck. “Or is there some kind of bloodsucking vampire hybrid I need to know? You do look extra pale in sunlight.”

 

Far from looking ashamed, Derek had a self-satisfied smile on his face. “You could borrow one of Isaac’s scarfs.”

 

“Oh yeah,” Stiles stomped to the stool next to Derek’s and sat carefully. “That’s not code of getting laid or anything. First it was my chest, now this. I’m not your frigging chew toy.”

 

“Your phone was buzzing,” Derek said and Stiles cursed, nearly falling from his chair as he rushed back into the bedroom.

 

Stiles spent the rest of the day alternating between researching curses and texting Lydia for updates on her translation. His father called every hour and Stiles dutifully answered but despite the trauma of starting that morning with steel tipped arrows aiming for his throat, he couldn’t stay focused. He couldn’t stop _touching_ Derek, like his hands had magnets and Derek was due north. Fortunately, Derek didn’t seem to mind. Every time Stiles brushed his arm while reaching for his glass or tapped their knees together while they sat side by side he just smiled, a strange thing but something Stiles found himself seeking more and more.

 

He remembered something Cora told him. It was right after he had finished reassuring his father for the umpteenth he was fine and still securely squatting in Derek’s apartment until school let out and the rest of the pack could rally when he finally said something about it.

 

“Cora said you used to smile,” Stiles fiddled with the highlighter he had been using before Derek had snatched the book away from him. (“It’s from the _library!_ ” he had admonished. “Since when do you care about things like that?” Stiles had frowned because he still remembered the painful process of piecing together that German bestiary.) Derek had been pushing the rest of the stack out of the way of Stiles’s wandering hands and Stiles saw his back tense slightly.

 

“I smile,” Derek growled.

 

“Yeah, you’re a regular ray of sunshine,” Stiles said dryly. “No, I mean, before the whole fire thing.”

 

Derek was quiet for a minute and his face was turned away but when he looked back at Stiles it was carefully aloof. “I didn’t know you two talked about the fire.”

 

“Sometimes,” Stiles said vaguely. “We talk about a lot of things. I mean, she did live at my place for a while. It would be weird if we didn’t.”

 

Derek gave him a stony look and Stiles sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck because, oh yeah. Derek had spent several days at his house so far back in past Stiles had nearly forgotten. Their exchanges had been nervous stammering on Stiles’s half and cursing death threats from Derek.

 

“All I mean is you’ve got a nice smile,” Stiles said quickly trying to recover. He had been _complementing_ the guy. “I haven’t really seen it before.”

 

Derek snorted and turned back to his newspaper but the next time he got up he gripped Stiles’s shoulder when he passed and let his fingers trail over his shirt collar.

 

***

 

          School had let out and predictably the apartment became a swarm of teenagers, all questions and worried glances as they tripped through the door. Stiles had ended up stealing one of Cora’s workout sweaters from her room because Derek’s monster shoulders made his hang like a tent on Stiles. It was a little small but it did the trick of folding over Derek’s stupid love bite. It smelled like Cora too and Derek had sniffed disapprovingly.

 

          Stiles had been worried about just how much the rest of the group knew. Until now no one had mentioned anything about Ria and Johan besides passing comments and Stiles wasn’t sure how much of what Cora had told him had been common knowledge. To his relief, it seemed that everyone seemed to know they had been on the run and trying to put on a show for their family back in Europe, though Cora had given him and silencing look when he had been about to mention his first run in with them.

 

Everyone seemed to know about the two, that was, except for Derek.

         

          “I was your Alpha,” he looked almost like he was pouting when Allison finished guiltily explaining. “This is the kind of thing you’re supposed to come to me for.”

 

          It was a disturbing echo of his father’s words and Stiles decided to ignore that connection. “Anyway, it seems the gig is up,” Stiles looked meaningfully at Cora who still had her lips tightly sealed. “I mean, the family wouldn’t have attacked Ria if they thought Johan and Ria were still on their side right? No reason to keep secrets.”

 

          “No necessarily,” Cora said suddenly. “We don’t know it was their family.”

 

          “Wolfbane laced crossbows suggest otherwise,” Lydia quipped.

 

          “We should bring them here,” Scott was sitting next to Isaac on the sofa and leaned forward as he spoke. “If we’re going to commit to protecting them we should start including them to pack meetings.”

 

          “And then can I meet them formally?” Stiles said dryly.

 

          “I’m sorry we didn’t tell you, Stiles,” that was Allison looking apologetic. “My dad didn’t want to tell anyone. He didn’t think the family would go this far to get them back.”

 

          “I don’t think we need to bring them in,” Cora said quickly. “What good is it going to if they see them meeting with the whole pack? It’ll just draw attention to whoever is hunting them.”

 

          Scott was frowning at her and, for a second, Stiles wondered if he was going to see the first Alpha vs. Alpha throw down since Deucalion had disappeared. However, Derek set down a plate of cookies with a loud clatter, breaking the tension. “We’re out of milk,” he said annoyed and Stiles couldn’t help but grin. This whole nesting thing was pretty goddamn attractive. “And by the way, you are all morons.” He reached into his pocket and slid a phone across the table. It wasn’t his crappy flip one either, this was new, shiny and definitely a model Stiles had seen on TV recently. “It’s called FaceTime. Use it.”

 

          There was a long pause as everyone in the room stared at him. Cora snatched the phone up, turning it over in her hands as if to satisfy herself that it was real. “This isn’t your phone,” she finally said accusingly.

 

          He gave her a stony look. “Sometimes people keep a second, secret phone.” Stiles saw her pale. There was a smirk on Derek’s face as Cora struggled to guess the passcode and Stiles couldn’t stop the shit-eating grin from his face.

 

          The pack broke up after that. Scott offered to go back with Stiles like an armed escort but Derek cut him off, saying the sheriff had wanted him to stay in the apartment until he had gotten off shift. Lydia and Allison left to confer with Johan and Ria about a remote meeting, Scott had a few whispered words with Cora before he also shuffled to the door muttering about darkly about ‘family dinners’, and Isaac slunk into his room. Soon it was just the Hale siblings and Stiles sitting awkwardly in the kitchen as Derek shuffled through the cupboard claiming in a disgruntled voice it was time to start dinner.

 

          Cora was obviously still pissed as sat on the edge of her stool, tapping her fingers on the granite kitchen island. Stiles tried to sort through the assignments Scott had brought him from his missed day at school but his eyes kept on being drawn up and over the pages.

 

          Stiles had read countless pages on werewolves, from all different cultures and times, from differing viewpoints, some of it pure fiction and others graphic firsthand accounts. They were all wildly diverse but they did seem to agree on one thing. Hierarchy—Alphas, Betas, Omegas—they were supposed to be set in stone. It was a magical identity in the soul and it reflected through the eyes – red and blue or gold. It was power that passed by strength, both physical and of character.

 

Stiles had theories. Scott had become an Alpha because of the sheer power already in his soul. He knew that. He had written his third grade essay about how Scott was his role model and the strongest person he knew. His teacher had given him a C and gently reminded him about Scott’s asthma. But little had actually changed between third grade Scott sitting on the sidelines of gym class clutching his inhaler and the Scott McCall who pushed through a wall of mountain ash. Becoming a werewolf had changed some physical aspects but the part of Scott that Stiles knew, that hadn’t changed one bit.

 

As Cora and Derek squared off, subtle, quiet and seething, in front of him, he couldn’t stop his mind from absorbing it all. He had been assuming the change in power, the fact Cora had become Alpha and Derek had dropped back to his ice blue eyes, would change their relationship on a fundamental power level. But he had seen these two clash before and, while this was definitely less violent than the scene he had walked into months ago, they were will locked in the same battle of wills, neither side giving an inch.  

 

“Stiles,” Derek had been calling his name and he blinked, snapping back into the present. “Pasta, is it okay?”

 

“What? Yeah, sure.”

 

Cora was looking at him strangely too and tapped the textbook in his hand. “Was it that interesting?”

 

He glanced down and realised he had been holding the book upside down. He made a face and closed it. “Sorry, just thinking.”

 

“Come on.” Cora yanked his arm, pulling him out the kitchen. Derek gave him a solemn salute with the wooden spoon in his hand as he struggled to keep his balance. Cora was definitely the same, gentle, delicate, tactful flower she had always been as she pushed him onto her bed and climbed onto her the chair by the desk in her room to perch. Stiles rubbed at his arm and she pulled out her phone, the one Stiles had gotten her, and turned on the music with the volume cranked up.

 

“You’re seriously still not going to tell them about the curse, are you?”

 

“Potential curse,” Cora corrected but she was tapping her hands on her knees nervously. “Do you think Derek knows about my second phone?”

 

“I think he definitely doesn’t not know, yes.” He looked at the phone as it blared pointedly. “He’s had a few clues.”

 

“If he knows about the phone then he must know about Johan.”

 

Stiles wondered if he should try and torture her for all the pain and suffering she had inflicted on him in the past while but he wasn’t cruel. She was a person who grew on you like an acquired taste. At first you can’t imagine ever liking it and by the end you’d throw yourself in front of a truck for just one more drop. “I doubt it. He probably thinks you’ve been texting Lydia about him. Or sex lines.” Stiles leaned back on his hands, enjoying her discomfort. “Derek’s not the most imaginative person ever. He’d smell the guy before anything else, right?”

 

“I’ve been careful about that,” she nodded, relaxing. Then she frowned. “Is that my sweater?”

 

Stiles didn’t meet her eyes. “You were-people don’t turn up your heaters enough.”

 

“Wait,” she sniffed, leaning in, and before he could stop her she tugged the shoulder to the side, exposing whatever damage Derek had done to his neck earlier. She broke into a toothy grin as Stiles shoved her away. “I’m not going to be able to do this when you smell that ripe,” she said and Stiles saw her grab a small bottle.

 

“Hey, that’s perfume isn’t it?” Stiles leaned back. “I’m not going to wear your perfume. That’s just weird.”

 

“Come on,” she rolled her eyes. “Stop being such a baby. It’s either that or I spend the whole time thinking about you and Derek having sex.”

 

“Fine,” Stiles grumbled and took the bottle away. It smelled nice but was the principle of the matter. He sprayed some onto his hand and rubbing it roughly over the back of his neck. Cora sniffed approvingly. “I don’t go sniffing into your personal life. Which by the way, you should just tell Derek. This whole secret keeping thing is giving me a headache.”

 

Cora nodded absently but was already pulling her Econ textbook and looking at him imploringly.

 

It was both weird yet good for his own grades that Cora was so keen on doing well in school. They spent the next hour studying, the music still going as Stiles caught up on the missed work and then delved into a Wikipedia search about Donald Trump. By the time his father texted him to say he was finally heading home and Stiles should do the same, Stiles was about fed up of the Hanson song Cora had put on repeat. Derek was in the living area when he stepped out of Cora’s room and Stiles paused, his hand on the closed door handle.

 

He knew he was a whirlwind kind of person who jumped from one thought to the next without concern for consequence or the long term effects. He had dragged Scott out on enough adventures that ended with them in a holding cell, bitten, and held at gun point that one time with the werewolf doctor. Stiles wasn’t one to dwell on the past. But, as he stood there watched Derek do his push up with efficient, uniform movements, the sense memory of just where that body had been today caught up with him. It stilled him, grounding his brain from where it had been fluttering between thinking about the Argents, how much he hated Hanson, what he was going to say to his dad, and how pissed off Finstock would be if he wrote his next paper about mole people.

 

Derek paused mid push up and tilted his head to look at him. He quirked an eyebrow as if to say _really?_ then sat up completely. “Leaving?”

 

“Yeah,” Stiles swallowed hard and tried not to stare at the stay drop of sweat working its way down to the top of his tank top. He waved his phone nervously. “Dad’s home now.”

 

“I’ll take you,” Derek stood, reaching for his jacket but Stiles stepped forward to stop him.

 

“Don’t worry, I’m a big boy. Whoever was after Ria this morning has probably long given up.”

 

Derek let the jacket drop again. “I saved you two dinner,” he said, awkwardly.

 

Awkward, yeah, that was the best word to describe things. Stiles didn’t know what made this so strange. Just hours ago, there hadn’t been room for awkward. Hell, there hadn’t been room for much between their bodies and Stiles remembered the closeness and the comfort of everything about Derek. But now it was like he didn’t know what to do with his phone still in his hand feeling like a brick and Derek was just standing where, watching him, waiting for him to react. He knew what he wanted to do. He wanted to push Derek down on the floor and do some of those push ups with a little more pair interactivity. But Derek was holding back, stiffening up again and Stiles wasn’t sure if he was entirely welcome.

 

“You should have knocked or something, we could have eaten together,” Stiles wasn’t sure what the right thing was to say. Derek just nodded and Stiles gave a frustrated sigh. “I’ll see you.”

 

“Call me when you get home.”

 

“Yeah, sure” Stiles pushed open the door and made sure to shut it firmly.

 

***

 

_Black, hard black masks flying around like insects battering him. His body was on fire, climbing through his flesh into his bones, organs, teeth, any spaces left between filled with choking smoke. His teeth erupted, sharp razors of steel grafting on his jaw as the pain bound him tight._

_Something was coming._

_“Nande koko ni konai ka?” the voice was coming from his body, the sounds caught and tangled in his veins as they sheered with fire. “Koko ni wakaru kanna. Ima matteiru yo.” Tears were too hot the drench the flames. His eyes were boiling, bulging and bubbling from his sockets as he looked, the inky tendrils of tree branches over his head, catching fire. “Stiles.”_

_There was something curling over his ribs, splicing between the bones and the melting, rubbery skin until it was bound tight over his lungs like a lasso being pulled tighter and tighter. Stiles tried to scream but his lungs pinched in the corsetting pain as fluid forced itself up his throat, blocking sound and air, the only senses remaining being agony and the sound of low, cruel laughing—_

 

The pressure on his chest released suddenly, like steel bands had been snapped away like rubber. He sucked in air though he felt like he was breathing through a plastic straw shoved down his throat.

 

The lights flicked on, blinding him for a second but he saw his father, grim-faced with Cora’s metal bat post-swing. Pain shot through his body as he struggled to sit up and see. There was a creature, something bedraggled and hissing. His father waited, his entire posture poised to hit again, but the thing let out a garbled howl before jumping out the open window.

 

“Dad,” Stiles’s voice was thin and strangled but the second his father heard him he clutched the bat in one hand and strode across the room to close the window firmly.

 

“Why the hell is your lock broken?” Stiles tried to keep his eyes open against the pain it took to roll onto his side. His father left the window, his face lined with exhaustion as he pulled Stiles up. Like magic, it was easier to breath and his father rubbed soothing, warm hands over his clammy shirt. It felt like hot pokers over his skin. Eventually the painful contractions of his lungs eased and he sat up reluctantly.

 

“What the hell was that?” his voice was still squeaky but better.

 

“An alp, I think,” his father let him sit on his own power but kept one arm firmly around his shoulders. Stiles managed to turn his head and give him an incredulous look.

 

“Like, the mountain?” he asked stupidly.

 

His father grinned, more tooth than any kind of happiness. “Doesn’t feel so great from the other side of the research desk, does it? Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”

 

Stiles changed, the sweaty, damp clothes clinging to his skin reminding him too much of the way his body had distorted and burst open in his dream. He frowned into the bathroom mirror as he exposed his skin. There, yeah, were the marks from Derek but again he saw bruised scattered around the front of his chest. The ones from Derek had faded but these looked new and tender when he touched them.

 

His father had cocoa, twice in a week which was a bit of a record, ready when he came down and Stiles took it without a word.

 

There were several folders on the desk, thick and bound shut with twine closers. Normally there were case numbers on his father’s records but these were blank. Stiles craned his head to look in as the sheriff started to open them. “I thought I was going crazy until I brought over Chris Argent and Mrs. McCall. Then, it came together. Here.” The first folder had what looked like looked like illegally photocopied hospital records. “Sudden influxes of some pretty serious sleep disorders.” The next folder was of pictures and reports Stiles had seen with the footprint and open refrigerator. “Missing milk.”

 

He could see his father’s chicken scratch all over some of the papers and pictures but there was more. He knew the loopy notes from the various times he had tried to copy Scott’s mom’s signature on failed tests. The last set of writing, blocky symbol like shorthand, must have been Allison’s father. Stiles wasn’t sure he liked seeing them all together like this.

 

“We’ve found a few dead birds crushed to death, alps are afraid of them.” More pictures. “And don’t think I haven’t noticed those bruises all over you,” the sheriff pointed at the mark exposed by the rip in the tee shirt collar and Stiles scrambled to cover his skin.

 

He settled back in his chair took a drag off his mug, smacking his lips like it was something stronger than chocolate but Stiles didn’t smell any alcohol. Stiles noticed the bat was leaning against his chair in easy reach.

 

“How long have you been having the nightmares?”

 

Stiles winced as he raised his own mug. “Which ones? The ones where the Alpha pack is trying to eat my face or the ones where I show up to school without pants?”

 

His father frowned, his mouth thin and the lines of his face furrowed deeper onto his face than Stiles had ever wanted to see. “This isn’t a joke.”

 

“I’m not laughing,” Stiles replied. He sighed and then gave in. “I thought they were from the Nemeton.”

 

Instead of answering, his father flipped open the last folder. There were scans from a book, handwritten pages with Mr. Argent’s writing written over most of the text. He could feel his heart pound when he recognised them as the book he had scanned for Lydia, right down to the naked ink drawing of a woman with elfin like ears and a mouth full of teeth. “An alp.” His father repeated, pushing the folder across so Stiles could take a closer look. “Well, the picture is the female version. That thing in your room was definitely male. It’s like a cross between a vampire and a werewolf.” 

“So there’s some truth to all that Twilight fan fiction,” Stiles said. “Let’s alert the forums.”

 

“It sits on its victim’s chests and gives them vivid nightmares,” his father said. “You know,” he was frowning like it was Stiles’s fault. “Like the ones you’ve been having.”

 

“Don’t blame me for not catching this one,” Stiles said. “I had a perfectly reasonable soul sucking tree that could have also been giving me nightmares.”

 

“Hey,” his father held up a finger to stop him. “You should have told me about those too.”

 

Stiles slipped over the translated text and picture so he didn’t have to look at it any more. “You solved it. Great job. One might even think you were a cop or something.”

 

“Don’t get smart.”

 

“Sorry,” Stiles gripped the mug. His hands were still shaking. He saw his father’s expression soften. “Where did you get those scans? I locked those files on my computer.”

 

A hint of humour in his eyes, the sheriff gave him a half smile. “You’re not the only one who can charm a lady. Cora cracked your password in minutes when I told her I was doing some extra research.”

 

That was—okay, that might be reasonable actually. He should have realised introducing a girl who learned how to survive in a foreign country by absorbing scraps of information like a hoover vacuum would one day get bored with looking up Buzzfeed articles and learn some hacking. How had he once thought that by giving Cora the keys to a smartphone and the internet he would be able to keep tabs on her should things blow up in his face?

 

“How’s your chest?” his father was looking concerned and Stiles realised he was zoning out again. “Those things don’t just steal milk, they like to suck it out of their victims.”

 

Stiles had been pressing his fingers into the sensitive bruises along his chest and pained, horrified. “It was trying to— _suckle me_?”

 

The only thing that made this whole situation slightly hilarious was the look on his father’s face.

 

“The other victims—“ Stiles started but his father cut in.

 

“—all sleeping alone at the time, all had broken locks or open windows in the bedrooms. I was kidding before but first time tomorrow we’re putting bars on that window. The good thing is, this thing isn’t a killer. It’s a trickster so it’s not actually out to hurt anyone. The heart attacks, the stress—that’s all a by-product not the goal.”

 

“How fun,” Stiles said under his breath. “How do we kill it?”

 

His father frowned when he heard that. “Well therein lays the problem. The sucking part, that’s where it’s like a vampire. But the werewolf part—this thing, where ever it is, turns into a normal human being during the day.”

 

“Great,” Stiles ran a hand through his hair. “So what, we have to bait it with milk and a hapless victim and try help whoever it is tame the wild beast? Awesome. I vote not me this time.”

 

“We’ll figure something else out,” his dad said quickly.

 

Stiles ran a hand over his face. This was too much right now. He could feel all the things balancing over his head. The Nemeton. The German wonder duo and their stupid curse. Cora and her damn secrets. Derek and his hot and cold attitude. Weird, breast milk, nightmare inducing were-vampires running amuck. The fact he still had a Calc test tomorrow. There had to be a limit to how much a person could take. Stiles was pretty sure he was quickly approaching it.

 

Stiles couldn’t finish his cocoa but he knew there was no way he was sleeping again, no way, no matter how sluggish his body became. His father was cleaning up, tucking the files back into their organised files, and neatly putting them in a box labelled _Family Invoices_. Before he could express his resolve to never enter his bedroom again, his father had him by the arm and was steering him not towards the stairs but down to the den. The bed was already made up and his father pushed him towards the far side against the wall. There were no windows, only the one door and Stiles found himself relaxing against the squeaking springs despite himself.

 

His father settled beside him, on top of the blanket he had spread over Stiles at some point. The pillow under his head smelled faintly like Derek. His father was reaching for something, a leather bound book and had his reading glasses on. For a moment Stiles felt like he was a kid again crawling down here after a few restless hours of sleep. He had always known his father would be awake and he would drift off with the sound of pages flipping or the scratch of a pencil. It was almost easy to drift into that memory but one final foreign sound made him blink awake just for a second.

 

“Don’t worry,” his father clicked the barrel of the now loaded shotgun closed. He looked solidly sure of himself and for a brief moment Stiles felt something loosen in his stomach. It was strange, he hadn’t even realised how nervous he had been until the feeling was gone. “No more boogeymen tonight.”

 

***

 

          He had missed first period because his father hadn’t wanted to wake him up. They had rushed through the MacDonald’s drive through for breakfast. Stiles had been close to calling the precinct and demanding they declare anarchy for the day because of his father’s bloodshot eyes but the man had scowled and shoved him out of the car when he suggested it.

 

          It meant he missed the Calc test so that was one think still ticking down on his list. His Econ paper wasn’t too bad though. Everyone must have done all right because the class was in fairly good humour. Stiles let himself relax and take in the antics. The rest of the morning went by quickly and Stiles found himself at lunch again, the clockwork monotony of his school schedule grounding. Cora wasn’t there yet but Isaac handed out brown bagged lunches to everyone with a suffering grimace.

 

          It took Stiles half of the sandwich to realise he hadn’t even told Scott about the events from last night and quickly interrupted whatever Allison had been talking about to tell them. Isaac had started smirking when Stiles got to the chest sucking nature of the creature and he threw the apple that had come in the lunch bag at his head. Isaac caught it easily and took a crisp bite.

 

          “Someone should try to get more information about the Nemeton from Deaton,” Allison said thoughtfully. Stiles couldn’t help but notice she had a brown bagged lunch as well. He wondered whose influence that had been. She and Derek weren’t the best of friends still though they tolerated each other for the sake of the others. He couldn’t blame either; there was a lot of bad history between them. “We still don’t really know what that thing does.”

 

          “I nominate Scott,” Stiles clapped his friend on the shoulder. Scott coughed on the ham and cheese sandwich before making a face at him.

 

          “Dude, why me? Between this History paper and the Civic test I’ll be lucky to talk to my mom let alone Deaton.”

 

          “Don’t you still work there part time?” Isaac said and Scott paused, thinking.

 

          “Crap, I do. I haven’t been in all week. Do you think he’ll still give me my pay check?”

 

          They debated over whether or not Deaton would take mental stress due to Being The One True Alpha as an excuse for skipping shifts until Stiles finally did a sweep of the room with his eyes. Danny was sitting with the lacrosse team today but the girls who had had been hanging out with where still together, preoccupied with something on their phones. Other than that, nothing caught his eye and he frowned.

 

          “Hey, where’s Cora?”        

 

Isaac frowned sourly at that. “She and Derek got into it last night and she took off. Again. Derek said she went to your place.”

 

          “Yeah, no,” Stiles shook his head. “I definitely only had one unexpected visitor last night.”

 

          There was a pause then like a trained unit, all of them shoved the rest of their bagged lunches into their backpacks and scrambled away from their table. “Wait!” Lydia hissed before they could bolt. “We can’t all leave at once!”

 

          “Sure we can,” Isaac shrugged. “Boyd and I did it before. Just say you’re sick.”

 

          “That we’re all sick?” Lydia raised an eyebrow at him. “With what? The Bubonic plague? They’re going to know we’re trying to ditch.”

 

          “Well, they let me go with a headache,” Isaac said but then relented. “Boyd had to say explosive diarrhea before they let him go.”

 

          “We can’t all say we have explosive diarrhea,” Lydia said exasperated but Stiles looked hard at bag still in his hand. He thrust it out.

 

          “No, but we can all have food poisoning.”

 

          It really was that simple. Stiles wanted to stagger but Lydia insisted it was fine to go in together. As they walked, trying to look suitably pathetic to any teachers watching, he tried to think of a good reason they would have all eaten the same lunch.

 

          “I can’t believe you still haven’t gotten it yet,” Lydia sighed as Allison giggled then faked a moan and clutched her stomach as they passed Finstock’s office. He glanced up, turned pale and shut the door with a slam. Stiles only had a moment to see his face, irritated and his hair even more wild than usual as he snapped the blinds closed. “They’ll know why we all ate the same thing. Trust me, the school is small enough that no one has any secrets anymore.”

 

          True to Lydia’s prediction, the nurse barely batted an eye when Lydia explained. “Of course it’s you five. Where’s the other, girl, Cora Hale?”

 

          Scott glanced at Stiles confused but Stiles just hung his head in defeat. He had warned them. “She’s out sick already.”

 

          “Right,” the nurse already had her absent slip pad out and was scribbling a note. “It was just food poisoning this time but this kind of adventurous behaviour can lead to something more permanent. You might think it’s all fun and games, having boy-girl sleepovers and sharing breakfast, but make sure you all have open lines of communication. And wrap those sausages properly.”

 

          For a moment Stiles was struck silent with confusion. What the hell was the nurse talking about? But then he glanced at Lydia’s look of resignation, Allison trying to contain her laughter and Isaac, his face like Stiles one of horror as they met eyes. The weird looks, the strange way people seemed to be almost ashamed to meet their eyes, the half understood comments and misinterpreted anger, hell, some of the things he had said—

 

          “But, I thought we all had tuna today,” Scott, still adorably naïve, said and the nurse finally lost her cool and turned beat red. For once Stiles was grateful for Isaac who tugged his arm before he could say more.

 

          “Please, don’t—just don’t tell me specifics, please,” the nurse was rubbing at her temples, avoiding looking at Allison and Lydia who were holding back laughter.

 

          “Thanks,” Stiles took the slips, his fingers feeling numb as his face as flush as hers. “I promise you, though; nothing adventurous is going on between any of us.”

 

          “Well, for some of us it is.” Fuck what he had just said. Isaac could go die in a ditch now.

 

          “Here,” it was embarrassing that the woman had clearly already prepared the bag for them and Stiles felt the tips of his ears flame red as he glanced at all the condoms—jeez, so that was what a dental dam was— inside. “And some pamphlets,” she shoved a stack at Stiles with prominent titles like _So, You’ve Decided to be Polyamorous_ and _Creating Your Own Big Love Family_ at him. That was it. That was all Stiles could take but as they left, Isaac dragging Scott out first and Allison leaning on Lydia for support, the nurse called out and made him pause in the door way. “Stilinski! I always had you and McCall in the pool for at least experimenting with each other. Nice job.”

 

          They should have gone with the explosive diarrhea.

 

          He had sent Derek a message as they had formulated their escape. Lydia was already splitting them into teams and quadrants, Scott and Allison on his bike, Lydia and Isaac in Lydia’s car. Stiles was supposed to wait for Derek’s text and meet up with him so they could have the largest number of werewolf-human teams available. Stiles wanted to make some kind of crack about scent hounds but couldn’t think of anything really funny.

 

          He fretted as he waited. Keeping his phone in his hand in case anyone sent out an alert, he leaned on the _Beacon Hills High_ sign and tapped an uneven rhythm on his thighs. Just when it felt like it was taking too long, a dark figure with too-long arms loped into the parking lot and Stile shot up, glancing around frantically to make sure the parking lot was still empty and no one else was going to notice the half-shifted moronic freak charging up to the front door of the school.

 

          “What the hell?” Stiles hissed as Derek drew up next to him. He grabbed Derek’s shoulder through the leather jacket and pushed him into the bushes. Derek snarled as he tripped but shifted back to normal, the wrinkles in his face barely changing shape as he glowered from the dirt. “You can’t just run around all,” he fluttered hands in front of Derek’s face, “all Wolf-Man circus freak!”

 

          “Really?” Derek stood, brushing dirt from his jeans with a scowl. “I never thought of that one. You’ve really taught me all about living a secret life.”

 

          “This is no time for sarcasm,” Stiles waved a finger in his face, the adrenaline making his heart pound.

 

          “I was in a hurry and there’s no one around,” Derek said. “I know what I’m doing.”

 

          “Where the hell is your car?”

 

          “I don’t know,” Derek untangled himself from the bushes. “I dropped Isaac off and went back to my place. When I got your message I went out and the car was gone.”

 

          “Did you lock it?”

 

          “ _Yes,_ ” Derek sighed exasperated. “But I’m not the only one with keys. I think Cora came back and took it.”

 

          “Cora?” Stiles looked at him sceptically. “You gave Cora keys?”

 

          “She has her Learner’s now,” Derek said defensively.

 

          It felt like his brain was expanding to a point where it was incapable of being contained by his skull. “You gave her a _car_?” he managed to squeak.

 

          “You’re the one who said it. I needed to show her I trusted her,” Derek said through gritted teeth. “Teenagers need freedom in order to build good relationships with their guardians.”

 

          “I meant, like, not wiretapping her phone or try instigating family movie night or something, not giving her unlimited mobility!” Stiles squinted at him and crossed his arms, leaning forward slightly. Derek leaned back uncomfortably. “Are you quoting a parenting book?”

 

          “No,” Derek lied.

 

          Stiles’s phone buzzed in his hand and he looked at it, putting a mental tab on that thought for later. “Lydia says she’s not at her house, they’re going to head to the north side of the preserve- oh, crap, crap, Stiles, you’re an idiot sometimes.”

 

          “Well, we weren’t going to say anything to your face,” Derek said dryly and Stiles responded with a sarcastic _haha_.

 

          “Cora’s phone—“

 

          “—that you gave her.“

 

          “—that I gave her,” Stiles agreed irritably, “has a GPS signal. I’ve got the locator app.”

 

          Derek stared at him as Stiles flipped through his screen. “Wow. That’s some show of trust.”

 

          “It’s insurance,” Stiles retorted. “You’d be thanking me if she had been kidnapped by the Alphas again.” That shut Derek up. Stiles thrust the phone triumphantly in his face. “Got it! Come on, we’ll take my car.”

 

Stiles knew the way to the preserve and the old Hale house a little too well. They pulled up next to where Derek’s SUV was parked. Derek was unbelted and out of the car, slamming it closed hard enough the jeep rocked on the suspension. “Hey, she’s been through a lot, can we treat Roscoe with a bit of respect?”

 

“She’s inside,” Derek’s face was trained on the front door and he set off without a glance backwards. Stiles had to jog to keep up. “I can smell her.”

 

“Gross.”

 

           The house was still here, creepy and foreboding even in the day light. There was something new, a waist-high clean-cut rock was off to the side right where they had dug up the other half of Laura’s body. It looked new and untouched in contrast to the burnt out husk of the Hale house. Derek didn’t pay it any mind as he strode up the porch and pushed the door open.

 

          “Cora!” he disappeared into the house and Stiles jogged up after him. 

 

          The basement was cold and damp. Stile hesitated at the top because it felt a bit too much like the root cellar of the Nemeton but he could hear Derek’s voice raising and Cora’s angry one shouting over top. Pushing aside his misgivings about the structural soundness of the house, he followed Derek down. Cora was there but she wasn’t alone. Johan, Stiles recognised his strong jaw before anything else, was propped up against a wooden support beam. His face was ashen pale and matched a makeshift sling around one arm. Cora was crouched at his side, her hair swept up in a lopsided pony tail like she had done it one handed. Derek stood looming over the both of them, his fists clenched.

 

          “He’s _covered_ in you!”

 

          “Yeah, that generally happens when you have a lot of sex with someone,” Cora snapped back. Her tone was pinched and Stiles realised she had a hand resting on Johan’s neck leeching black tendrils of pain from him. “Case B, your boyfriend Stiles.”

 

          Stiles jolted at the sound of his name and both the Hales glanced up to where he was still standing awkwardly on the last step. Stiles could see a flash of fang as Derek looked away from him quickly. “I can’t believe you’re so selfish that you can’t _choose—“_

 

          “Ah, guys?” Johan’s voice was strained but clear. There was a fluidness that had been absent from his sister’s and Stiles appreciated that. However, it was also tight with pain despite Cora’s touch. “Maybe we can fight later, yeah?”

 

           Stiles came the rest of the way into the basement. He shot Derek a disapproving look as he knelt on the damp, cold concrete to get a closer look despite the dark. “Don’t worry, they’re not fighting. This is how they come up with a plan to get you to the hospital. It’s how they come up with all their plans. Violently.”

 

          “We can’t go to the hospital,” Cora said in a voice that clearly said she had been having this argument for a while. “The Argents will know. It’s not safe.”

 

          “Good thing we’ve got somewhere else we can bring him,” Stiles shot back reproachfully as he tugged the arm not strapped down over his shoulder and helped Johan climb swaying to his feet. “I hope you don’t mind some furry bedmates, dude.”

 

          Johan smiled at Stiles weakly then looked back at Cora. “It’s okay, I think,” he chuckled then winced as he jostled something. Ah, bestiality jokes in the face of pain. Stiles decided he liked this guy much better than his sister even more.

 

          Cora went to go with them but Derek grabbed her elbow. A split second later Derek went flying as Cora whirled around, her face wolfed out and eyes red, a harsh snarl making dirt and dust shake loose from the rafters.

 

          Stupid, he fumed as he helped the guy up the steps. He didn’t look injured anywhere but his arm but Stiles had seen enough injuries from lacrosse and watching arrests at the station to know that even something small could have into complications. If his arm was broken like Stiles suspected from the way he was holding it, then he was probably headed into some mild shock. The cold basement had probably just made things worse. Johan seemed to understand what was going on too because while he didn’t hesitate to lean on Stiles he walked as quickly as he could, the movement warming his body until he could walk mostly under his own power.

 

          “What about Cora?” Johan finally said as they approached the jeep Stiles glanced back; neither of the Hales had followed them out and he could still hear growling and the occasional pained yelp from the sub-basement windows.

 

          “It’s probably better for them to fight in the house. Hopefully it’ll fall down and knock some sense into them. Idiots.”

 

          Johan laughed, coughing a little but he climbed into the passenger side well enough when Stiles opened the door. When Stiles got in his own side he replied, “You said they don’t fight, just make plans violently.”

 

          “Well, they can make them violently by themselves, somewhere our human bones won’t get pulverised.”

 

          “Pulverised.” Johan repeated the word slowly.

 

          “It means to get crushed into dust or something really small,” Stiles cranked the heat as he got onto the main road. Johan already looked less pale but it was better to be safe than sorry. Without Cora taking his pain he had to be hurting but he didn’t complain as Stiles tried to steer around the pot holes.

 

          “Pulverised,” Johan agreed. “I feel pulverised.”

 

          “What happened?”

 

          “I don’t know,” he sighed and shifted to a new position. “I woke up, in my bed, and just—ow. Pain. My arm is broken. My chest,” he spread a hand over his collar bone, “has pain. I can’t speak, can’t breathe. Ria called Cora. We came here.”

 

          Not being able to breathe, chest pain. “Do you have a lock on your window?”

 

          Johan shook his head. “We are on the fourth floor. Ria likes the cold so it is always open. Beacon Hills is safe, no?”

 

          “No,” Stiles said grimly. “Not when alps can climb.”

 

          There was a long pause. “I’m sorry, my English is still in the working. You meant climb the Alps, not alps can climb, yeah?”

 

          “No, I meant Alps can climb,” Stiles said. “Don’t worry, dude, your English is just fine. It’s the world that’s gone crazy.”

 

          Deaton was at the front desk when they arrived at the Animal Clinic. So were several patients and Stiles realised he wasn’t normally there during regular hours. Fortunately, Deaton reassured the lady clutching a fluffy disgruntled cat and a man with a howling Dalmatian that there was nothing to be worried about and they would just be a few minutes until their appointments.

 

          “You know,” he said mildly as he quickly unbound Johan’s arm. The boy was sitting on the exam table and Stiles was wondering just where his life had gone wrong that this was a normal scene. “I have a backdoor for just these reasons.”

 

          “Sorry,” Stiles ran a hand through his hair. “It’s been a weird day.”

 

          “Your father said.”

 

          Stiles let out a groan before he could stop himself. Of course his father covered all his bases. It felt evasive, like a parent-teacher interview, and he wanted to ask just what exactly his father had said but Deaton was already busy helping Johan take off his shirt. There was a bruise spreading one side of his ribs and an ugly black-purple one bisecting his arm just below his bicep. Stiles hissed in sympathy.

 

          “My dad said these things are tricksters, they don’t actually want to hurt people,” Stiles said. “That looks like it hurts.”

 

          “Pulverised,” Johan had a light sheen of sweat across his forehead as Deaton lightly probed the area with gloved fingers. “I feel like small pieces.”

 

          “You certainly are,” Deaton said gently. “Your arm is definitely broken and I’m going to have to X-Ray it before we decide what to do but your ribs look okay. Johan, right?”

 

          “Yes.”

 

          “Do you have any allergies, anything you can’t eat or drugs you can’t take?” Johan shook his head and Deaton nodded solemnly. “Okay, good, anything strange happen in your life recently? Any kind of stress, nightmares and such?”

 

          “Some,” Johan admitted. “I wake up very tired. Like I didn’t sleep at all. But my family is very stressful now so I thought because of that.”

 

          “Assassination hits,” Stiles supplied helpfully. “That’s enough to keep anyone up at night.” He fiddled with his phone; he had been joking about wanting the house to fall down but he wasn’t entirely sure it was out of the realm of possibility. He tapped a message to Derek first, asking if things were alright, then another to Cora in much more basic terms.

 

           “I see,” Deaton’s voice was very relaxing, Stiles realised not for the first time. His phone buzzed, a terse reply that they were on their way and a picture of an angry squirrel. He sighed in relief. If Cora was sending animal pictures then they must not have hurt each other in a regrettable way.

 

Stiles sat on a stool along the other metal table and propped his head in his hands. The lack of sleep combined with the adrenaline rush was exhausting. “Mr. Argent tells me you and your sister are trying to make a break from the family. I can see how that can be hard. Have you had any run ins with them recently? Any strange packages or encounters with friendly strangers?”

 

          “Yes,” Johan frowned. “Maybe a while ago? I don’t remember it much but three weeks ago we got a package from the Amazon.”

 

“Wait, a jungle in South America sent you a package?” Stiles couldn’t help but cut in.

 

“No,” Johan frowned at him. “Amazon. The website? Do you not know?”

 

Deaton hid a smile as Stiles smacked himself on the forehead. “Yes, don’t worry, we know what it is. Please, continue.”

 

“It was for Mr. Argent. He said to me to open it because he was gone but it was nothing. Just plants and things, from a garden store. Mr. Argent said he didn’t buy it so we sent back. We thought it was mistake. But it smelled like something.”

 

          “Yes, your family does like to use the airborne toxins, don’t they,” Deaton smiled reassuringly. Stiles blinked and sat up. “What kind of smell?”

 

          “Flowers,” Johan said. “Purple flowers, it’s very small. Maybe people use it for perfume. I don’t know, I wasn’t interested in my family’s business. My sister likes it though.”

 

          Deaton hummed and went to the bottles running along the wall of the room. Stiles knew they were camouflaged and looked like anything one would expect in a veterinarians’ office but if you looked closely they were all labelled in Latin, Greek and a few more obscure alphabets. Deaton picked one of them up and brought it over to Johan to smell. When he nodded, affirming that that was the smell on the box, Deaton smiled and recapped it.

 

          “Lilac. It’s popular for your branch of the family, at least from what I’ve seen. They like to use it to cover up smells,” Deaton said to Stiles who was frowning as he remembered the first time he had met Johan and Ria at the gas station. The bag they had used over his face had smelled like lilacs. It must have been Ria’s idea, Stiles mentally counted another tick against the girl. Cora, it seemed, had picked the right sibling. “It also tends to disorientate their victims. It’s smart, very smart. Most people forget that there are five senses and you should knock out more than just sight when you are trying subterfuge.”

 

          “Great, Doc,” Stiles said sarcastically. “I’ll remember that next time I decide I need to terrorize and kidnap someone.”

 

          Deaton gave him a pitying look. “Mr. Stilinski, you should be taking notes. With the lifestyle you’re leading this kind of information might be handy. Scents and masking scents are especially important if you plan to continue living with werewolves.”

 

          Stiles fell silent as Deaton turned back to Johan. “Have you had any unusual cravings since then? Things you don’t normally want but suddenly you can’t do without?”

 

          Johan thought for a minute then said, “Yes, just one thing.” Stiles had a sudden sinking feeling as the dots lined up in his head. “Suddenly I really like milk.”

 

***

 

          Cursing someone to become an alp was something Chris Argent had only heard of, he said. It was supposed to be a myth and he had never heard of it succeeded. Whatever had been in the box must have exposed the opener to some kind of trigger and the recipe must have been written in the book Lydia had been painstakingly working on in her spare time. It _was_ German she explain when they had their meeting. Just in a cypher she had never seen before. She had only just cracked it but once that was done she and Ria took no time at all to pour over the contents.

 

The place felt smaller somehow with all the people involved in there, not just Deaton, Scott, Derek and Stiles any more but Allison, Lydia, Isaac, Cora, Chris, his dad, Mrs. McCall with human approved pain killers, and the two teenagers who had caused this latest mess. It was both nice and unsettling to see how much the circle had grown and it bothered Stiles how relieved he was to pass on responsibility. He took a look at his dad, smiling in the corner and more relaxed than he had seen him in days. No, it was better this way, having such a wide support system. More hands, more shields—Mr. Argent and Mrs. McCall drifted to where his dad was standing and though Stiles felt a spark of nervousness that his father needed those kinds of protections it was also nice to know they were there.

 

          The sheriff had looked a little ashamed when he saw the setting plaster on Johan’s arm. He could have reasoned with the thing but he had admitted seeing it sitting on Stiles’s chest while Stiles gasped for air had made him take more violent measures. Johan just looked embarrassed through the whole thing. Ria made quips at him, making gestures to Stiles’s chest that were obviously insulting and left her and Lydia in giggles.

 

          It had been meant for Chris, they had realised, but Johan had been the unexpected victim. Johan had finally come clean, in halting English that was increasingly peppered with foreign prepositions as the painkillers kicked in. He explained that if Mr. Argent had been made into an alp than the family would have been justified to go in and kill him outright without all the plotting and subterfuge. It didn’t matter that alps were tricksters and not intentional killers, someone was going to been unable to withstand a night incident sooner or later and would suffer a heart attack or something just as fatal. They must have realised Chris hadn’t been hit with it but had pieced together the evidence of attacks just the same as the sheriff, Mr. Argent and Mrs. McCall had. They had probably decided to eliminate all the people in the house, just to be safe, which was where Ria had gotten tangled up in things.

 

          “Wait, wait,” Stiles held up a hand as they talked. “I get the whole night attack things, it’s kind of in his nature. But why was he targeting _me_?”

 

          Ria said something that made Lydia laugh again but Deaton ignored them. “Probably because of the easy access to your window,” he sounded like he was scolding Stiles but, really it was Cora who had broken that lock in what felt like ages ago. “Also, you may have reminded him of someone Johan felt attached too. Transformed or not, creatures tend to drift to familiar things. Can you think of anyone you might be connected with who is also connected with Johan?”

 

          Scott and Cora were on their side of Johan and he saw Cora flushed guiltily. “Could it be a smell?” Stiles said finally and Deaton nodded. “Then, yeah, it might be from our detergent.”

 

          “That would do it, Mr. Stilinski. In fact, I bet if you looked over the other break ins you’ll find those common factors: broken window, sleeping alone, and the same detergent.”

 

          “So what you’re saying is we need to switch out everyone’s detergent brand?” Mr. Argent said, raising a skeptical eyebrow. “That seems a bit impractical.”

 

          “What else can we do then?” Scott had leaned protectively towards Johan when Chris said that. “It’s not his fault he got hit with the curse instead of you.”

 

          “I’m not going to kill him,” Chris said wearily. “Obviously. The family, though, won’t be so kind.” Chris rubbed at his face. “Sending teenagers who haven’t even gone through a real initiation to spy on me was already a bad move by their family. I was already halfway through convincing the Council to change their guardianship to me. But deliberately cursing another Hunter for trying to live peacefully—I think that will be all the evidence I need.”

 

          “You guys have a Council,” Isaac looked weary. “What the hell does the Council do?”

 

          “Not terrorize teenagers, for one,” Chris said. “We all need checks and balances. We protect the uninitiated from rouge werewolves,” he glanced at Derek who looked murderously back, “And the Council protects the Hunters from themselves.”

 

          “And who keeps the Council in check?” Cora asked, her eyes narrowed and bleeding red in the irises.  

 

          At that, Chris smiled in a way that was neither kind nor inviting. “People like me.”

 

          “We can protect him too,” the sheriff gave Cora a bemused look. “The law doesn’t look kindly on families taking pot shots at minors, even if they’re flesh and blood. I’d have to brush up on my international law but I think we can probably handle this one.”

         

          “We do like to work with the law,” Chris grinned at the sheriff who touched his forehead in a mock salute. “I’ll catch a flight out to England to sort this out. And maybe get to work on some citizenship papers.” A pained look crossed his face. “And probably find a house.”

 

          “With more than just one bathroom,” Allison added.

 

          “Are they really going to let him just go?” Cora demanded. There was tightness around her mouth and she stood as if she were rooting her feet to the floor. Stiles wasn’t surprised she was having a hard time believing this but he knew his father. He wouldn’t say these kinds of things unless he could keep them. “He’s a danger.”

 

“We can contain him at night, for now,” Chris said slowly. “Whatever they used to curse him is in that book and most of those spells have counter curses. As long as we present a solid case for trying to find a reversal—“

 

          “Got it!” Lydia had glanced up from where she was still scanning pages with a cat-like grin. “Oh, I’m sorry. Did you want to finish speaking or should I just start on fixing him?”

 

          Derek and Cora had been silent for most of the meeting. Derek stood next to the door, his arms crossed like he was angry to be here. Cora was closer, hesitantly keeping distance from Johan but flanking the side opposite to Scott.

 

          He drifted to the door as Lydia started to explain in detail, switching between German and English as if she had spoken both her whole life. He gently elbowed Derek; it was like nudging a brick wall. “So, hey, a Hale and an Argent. Weird, right?”

 

          “He’s not exactly an Argent,” Derek said. “His last name is Wolfkugel.”

 

          Stiles winced. “That sounds ominous.”

 

          “You shouldn’t have to watch this,” Derek said suddenly. Stiles glanced up; Cora had finally broached the space between them as they focused on Lydia and was resting her fingers on his. “You said it yourself,” he dropped his voice low. “You’re an only child, you don’t like sharing.”

 

          “I think it’s sweet,” Stiles said, carefully not looking at Derek. “Sandbox sweethearts, finding each other after all this time.” He could feel Derek staring at him but he waited before turning and looking at him seriously. “Dude, I haven’t been sleeping with your sister.”

 

          Cora looked up guiltily and his father with his laser-like selective hearing also glanced over with suspicious eyes. Stiles wiggled his fingers innocently but it did nothing to but make the worry lines on the sheriff’s face furrow further. “Come on, let’s do this without so many ears.”

 

          Stiles put the keys to his jeep in the sun visor and texted Scott strict instructions that Allison and only driving-law abiding Allison was allowed to drive her anywhere. He added he knew why the McCall’s car had an Isaac sized dent in the fender. Scott texted back a few scathing insults (Isaac was going to be a terrible influence on the guy, Stiles could tell) and then added they were going to be a while with this. A long while. A few hours at least. He then added a list of favours he needed and how hard he was working at distracting the sheriff from wondering about his son until Stiles finally turned the phone on silent and tossed it in his backpack.

 

          Lilacs; Stiles was hit with the smell as he walked into the apartment and the final clue slid into space. Derek was shrugging off his jacket slowly, putting the keys in a ceramic plate by the door someone (probably Allison who was the only one spending regular amounts of time at the place to think of the little details) like it was overly important. Stiles huffed and pushed at him until they were into the kitchen and he manhandled Derek onto a stool. Derek was avoiding his eyes so Stiles leaned against the counter and crossed his arms to brace himself.

 

          “Cora’s been with Johan for a while now.”The direct approach seemed best right now. He watched, forcing himself to keep from pacing because he wanted to focus, no matter how much the uncomfortable atmosphere made him want to do at least a dozen other things. “She said you wouldn’t understand why she was with him.”

 

          “I don’t,” Derek interrupted angrily. He shifted restlessly on the stool, uncharacteristic from his normal creepy stalker-like posture. “He’s a Hunter. Last time I checked predators and prey didn’t mix well.”

 

          “So you think Cora gives off some sort of prey vibe?” Stiles raised his eyebrows. “That’s news to me.”

 

          “That’s not what I meant.” He was avoiding Stiles still, his eyes moving from the ceiling light, the cupboard behind Stiles’s head, the floor as his jaw clenched painfully. Finally, though, he looked up square in Stiles’s eyes and said against his teeth, “You know—about Kate and I.”

 

          “I do,” he said quietly. “And I know Johan isn’t Kate and Cora isn’t you.”

 

          “It’s the same thing.”

 

          “No, it’s really not,” Stiles shook his head. “Kate was older, manipulative and deliberately trying to kill your family.”

 

          “How do we know this Johan isn’t the same?” Derek’s voice was a challenge.

 

          “Oh yeah, he was very threatening there,” Stiles rolled his eyes. “I especially like how he’s lying in wait with 50cc of morphine in his system. Like a cobra.”

 

          “Once a Hunter, always a Hunter,” Derek said unconvinced. “You don’t know what kind of training they do, what they’re indoctrinated with. If they want you dead there’s nothing you can do but run and keep running. We can’t fight back, we can’t protect ourselves. And if Johan ever turns on her—” His face twisted into something unreadable.

 

          “Kate wanted you dead,” Stiles pointed out. “And yet, you’re here.”

 

          “I was lucky,” Derek bit out. “And so was Cora. And that luck’s not going to hold out for another stupid mistake this like one.”

 

          “Johan’s not a real Hunter, you know.” Stiles said. “And he doesn’t seem to want Cora dead. Did you not see the way he was looking at her?”

 

          “That will change one day.”

 

          “Yeah, maybe,” Stiles agreed. “But maybe not. I’m pretty sure the only one who is close enough to tell is Cora.”

 

Derek snorted. “You’re going to trust Cora’s judgement?”

 

          “Why not?” Stiles said evenly. “She’s smart; she’s obviously been hoodwinking you this whole time with Johan. She figured out the whole Allison, Isaac, Scott thing before anyone else and she’s been orchestrating the Double Mint Twins behind even Allison’s dad’s back.”

 

          “None of that seems very trustworthy,” Derek pointed out. Then, he added, “She tricked you too.”

 

          Stiles sighed, finally letting himself run his hand though his hair, tugging a bit at the strains in frustration. “Yeah, but you have to admit, it was pretty brilliant. You have to respect the player.”

 

          “I did, you know. Trust her,” Derek said after a short silence. “I let her keep her stupid phone. And I let her have—” he glanced up at Stiles with a hard expression on his face. “I trusted her with you, too.”

 

          “Hey,” Stiles said sourly, remembering Scott’s steady hand chastising him for using the same language not that long ago. “You didn’t trust me to her. I’m not a child.”

 

          Derek huffed, grinding his teeth a little before answering. “I didn’t think you two were doing child-like things.”

 

          Stiles sighed before resting on his hands. This was familiar, it was like talking to a brick wall. But unlike when Cora clammed up, he didn’t back off to see what would happen next. Stiles felt a need to keep digging if not for his curiosity’s sake but because whatever caused Derek enough pain to close up felt like a physical ache in himself. “We weren’t you know. At all.”

         

It seemed to be the right thing to say. The tension slipped a bit in the room as Derek leaned back, his body relaxing for a moment as he looked like he was trying to figure something out.

 

          “Nothing happened between you two?”

 

          “No.”

 

          “So, the loud music, her smell all over you, the time you guys lived together: nothing?”

 

          “Nada,” Stiles made a cross over his chest. “This dick has only ever touched you and me.”

 

          “But you always seemed,” Derek hesitated before saying, “Happy.”

 

          “Friendship, it’s a magical thing, Derek.” It was painful to think that Derek couldn’t connect happiness with spending time with people. He supposed it made sense, Derek hadn’t been building a pack out of loneliness but out of protection and while Erica, Isaac and Boyd had found a sense of belonging he wasn’t entirely sure they had all been happy about the arrangement. “It’s a state where people can enjoy each other’s company without strings attached.”

 

          Derek seemed to be thinking hard about that one but he reluctantly added. “The way Cora smelled when she came home—“

 

          “Oh, gross, come on.” Stiles shuddered.

 

          “That’s not what I meant,” Derek sighed and rolled his eyes. “I block that out most of the time or else I’d go insane living with those three,” he jerked a thumb towards Isaac’s room, “in the apartment. Even before they started their _activities_ ,” he curled a lip in disgust, “they were so over-drenched in hormones I stopped even trying. I just meant she smelled like—“ he looked down. “She smelled like I remember my parents smelling. Content.”

 

          “That was with Johan, not me,” Stiles said.

 

          “I get that now,” Derek rolled his eyes. “It makes sense now. You never smelled—I mean, you always kind of had a—“ he paused and Stiles was more than a little delighted to see an angry embarrassed hue under the scruff. “—Like something was missing. And even that was hard to pick up on.”

 

          Stiles thought back to the times he had asked Cora how she was hiding Johan from Derek and the shifty way she would brush it off. The perfume, her insistence on doing his laundry, the weird way she would kiss or touch his cheek whenever Derek could see: he couldn’t believe he had missed it.

 

          “She’s been messing around the apartment and my things,” he said. “Deaton said some smells can distort and hide things.” He muttered a curse that made Derek raise his eyebrows in admiration. “Ria must have been helping her too, Deaton said their family specialises in that kind of thing.”

 

          “You said she wanted an arrangement between the three of us,” Derek sounded almost petulant now. The arguments were coming faster now, less concrete. He could see that even Derek didn’t quite believe them anymore and was mostly saying them out of frustration and anger. “And she tore your shirt! You said you made a _sex schedule!_ ”

 

“Your sister,” Stiles said clearly because it appeared Derek needed things spelled out, “is a manipulative, survivalist, lying piece of shit. And the rest of it,” his could feel his ears turn pink as past conversations ran through his head. God. He had mentioned a sex schedule at some point, hadn’t he? “I think there were just a lot of misunderstandings.”

 

          Derek was quiet for a minute. “You two really aren’t—“

 

          “No,” Stiles let out a frustrated sigh. “I swear to God, I’m going to get it tattooed somewhere.”

 

          “So the only person you’re sleeping with—“

 

          “—is you, you asshole.”

 

          Derek shot out of the stool and had his hands braced on Stiles’s hips in three strides. Stiles had been expecting it and had his hands on Derek’s face, tilting his chin so their lips met without any painful clashing. It was strange how familiar this felt now, like second nature, as Derek wedged himself between Stiles’s knees and gripped his thighs more firmly until Stiles felt himself lifted less on the floor and more on the counter. There was something a big different though; it felt like Derek had been holding back before because this—

 

          Something smashed on the ground as Stiles scrambled to hold onto the counter. Derek broke away gasping and Stiles smacked his head painfully on the cupboards. Stiles was grateful for the blasé shoe rules of the apartment as the glass crunched under his sneakers when Derek tugged him out of the kitchen and towards his bedroom.

 

          This time he didn’t really remember what happened to his clothes, what order they came off in or who did the actual loosening of buckles and such, but he did remember when and where Derek’s hands touched on his body, the gasps and sounds he made against Stiles’s skin. He was pretty sure of his shoes took out a lamp as he kicked it across the room. There was a lot of power in Derek’s hands and Stiles never fully appreciated it until now as Derek shoved him against the wall by the door, one hand pinning him almost just as much as the other hand tried to push him as close to Derek’s body as possible.

 

          Stiles wasn’t passive in this as he hooked an ankle around the back of Derek’s knee and ground up, grinning as Derek’s fingers spasmed. The wall burned against the back of his bare shoulders as he inched up until Derek’s head was level with Stiles’s collar bone. Derek’s hands had to slide down to support his weight, his hand shoving under the elastic of his boxers and against his ass, making him shiver. It hurt, in a good way, as Derek dragged the scratchy stubble on his cheek across his skin, nipping with the sharp canines of his teeth as they both dug in fingers to brace themselves against gravity. He was being possessive in a way he hadn’t been before and Stiles felt the same fond flutter in his chest as Derek dragged his tongue over the red marks.

 

          Stiles was about to crack a joke about slobbering but Derek yanked him away from the wall and dropped him on the bed, crawling up the bed until he could claim Stiles’s mouth again. He was being greedy, running his hands over every part of Stiles’s body as Stiles just hung on, panting and gasping between rough kisses as he finally wiggled his boxers down his hips and struggled to get them off.

 

          “Come on, big guy, these things work better naked,” he pushed until Derek blinked, dazed, and came back enough to help strip off the last of Stiles’s clothes so they could finally press skin on skin. Stiles was well on board, A-Okay, ready and willing, to keep up the frantic pace as he ground his erection against Derek’s hip. Stiles panted short on breath as he dug nails into the flexing muscles of Derek’s ass.

 

          “Let me just,” Stiles tried to worm his hand between them to grasp his aching cock but Derek was pressed too solidly and Stiles groaned in frustration. His neck was turning red, his skin feeling like it was on fire and buzzing at the same time.

 

          Then, Derek suddenly stopped and pulled back so he could look Stiles in the face. The world felt like it was still spinning and it took Stiles a second to pull himself back. “Come on, man, don’t stop!” Stiles felt like his body was wound tight like a clock, finally going at a speed that wasn’t the leisurely pace Derek normally set.

 

          “So if you and Cora never—“

 

          Stiles had had enough. He covered Derek’s mouth before he could get the next word out and scowled at him, his heart racing enough to make him feel mean. “I swear to God, I’m going to grab you by the balls and fucking twist them off if you ever try to bring her up again.”

 

          Derek sighed and rolled his eyes before trying to speak but Stiles kept his hand clamped so nothing but muffled sounds escaped. He grinned triumphantly but yanked his hand back disgusted as Derek licked it. “Dude, that’s disgusting. Do you have any idea where these hands have been?”

 

          “Really?” Derek sounded exasperated and lifted his weight off Stiles so he could gesture to their tangled limbs. “That’s what you’re worried about? You’re really not going to like where I want to put my mouth next then.” For a second Stiles had a flash of Derek’s mouth on his dick but then strong hands gripped under his thighs, parting and dipping fingers along his ass and he jerked at the surprisingly electric sensation.

 

          Stiles could feel his eyes dilating at the thought, his mind suddenly fixated on Derek’s soft, pale lips and exactly what he was implying. He heard a whimpering sound and was embarrassed to realise it was from him. But then his senses came back and he shook his head reluctantly. “There is no way I’m going to let you do that without at least a shower. Do you have any idea the number of bacteria floating around?”

 

          “Stiles—“

 

          “Way too many, that’s how many.”

 

          Derek gave him a flat look, clearly not worried about any of the health risk factors but Stiles had done enough late night Wikipedia marathons. He had been lax putting words where there had only been actions but he was putting his foot down for the sake of propriety. If he had spoken up before, if he and Derek had tried to exchange actual _words_ instead of just jumping (literally in some cases) straight into this than a whole lot of miscommunication would have been avoided. He stared at, bearing his will down through his eyes and finally Derek sighed, huffing disappointedly.

 

          “We can keep doing this,” Stiles arched up, trying to get Derek back on track. “I _liked_ this.”

 

          Derek smoothed his hands down Stiles’s sides until he could circle his thumbs on his hipbones. Stiles knew what he looked like—he had filled out some and wasn’t nearly as scrawny has he had been last year and the still red marks aching on his collar bone were proof enough that Derek had just has much ante in this bed as he did. But more than that, he saw something in Derek’s eyes he recognised: a warmth that matched his own, a kind of exasperated fondness and Stiles gave up the pretense of patience.

 

          Most of the time, Derek had been the one to lie back and let Stiles enjoy and Stiles suddenly realised it wasn’t so much that Derek didn’t want the same thing as him, because it was obvious from the way he kissed him back and the way he seemed to want to smother Stiles with his body that Derek was a person who w _anted_. But now it was like Derek had become unhinged, like something had unhooked him from some kind of restraint. He had spent a lot of time watching Stiles, trying to gauge his reaction, trying to make it as good as possible for him and not that it wasn’t good now but there was just something different about the way Derek was rutting against his hip. He was taking something, using Stiles like he hadn’t before and Stiles was more than happy to give as much as he could.

 

          He had been _competing_ Stiles realised suddenly. There had been a careful way about him before and Stiles had attributed it to Derek putting his admittedly higher expertise to use. But now he had the horrifying realization that Derek had just been making sure Stiles had a good time; he was making sure Stiles had the _best_ time. He didn’t think he would have ever noticed the difference if it wasn’t for the way Derek put his hands in a place for no reason other than it was a good grip, finger nails pinched unintentionally as speed over grace conquered, the unmindful way their skin was just starting to feel like it was chafing but neither wanted to stop.

 

          Stiles pushed at Derek who went willingly enough onto his back and Stiles found himself in the familiar position of looking down at him as he straddled Derek’s thighs. “You’re an absolute idiot sometimes,” Stiles panted out.

 

          Derek arched his hips, the wet tip of his cock sliding over his stomach tantalizingly and Stiles couldn’t help but feel something ache inside his chest. He kissed Derek, reaching to stroke him firmly as he tried to pour all of those emotions, the anger he still felt at Cora and the apology he didn’t feel he could adequately express in words, into it. Derek gripped his shoulders, pulling his upper body up and off the pillows as he responded, the kiss mangling and turning awkward as he couldn’t stop the corners of his mouth from turning upward.

 

          “What do you want to do?” Stiles pulled away eventually because he knew he was reaching a limit as much as it felt like there wasn’t one anymore. “What do you like?”

 

          “Anything,” Derek responded without hesitation and Stiles couldn’t help but roll his eyes.

 

          “No, you fucker, you get to choose this time. As long as you stop marking up my neck, there is literally no reason to defend your territory anymore.”

 

          He could see the conflict in Derek’s eyes but the man finally huffed a humorous sigh. He gripped Stiles’s thigh, hitching his legs to a more comfortable position as he sat up, pressing their groins together until Stiles could wrap a hand around both of them. He reached, rummaging for a tube in the beside table, flipping open and squeezing the contents down over their hands. Stiles hissed as the coolness of it almost stung but then Derek tossed it aside and wrapped his fingers around Stiles’s. “Just kiss me, okay?”

 

          “Easy,” Stiles said.

 

          Sometime later, Stiles fished his phone from his discarded jeans when it wouldn’t stop buzzing and sighed. Scott couldn’t hold off his dad forever and the meeting had finally settled on the cure and Johan’s fate. It hadn’t changed drastically but with Mr. Argent needing to leave for Europe as soon as possible, the three teenagers were leaving the fourth floor apartment to more secure locations. Ria would be at the McCall’s and Allison would be staying with the Stilinski’s, Scott’s text had warned, and Johan was going to bunk with Isaac for the time being so they were headed over now and Stiles was under strict instructions to cover his junk before they got there.

 

          “Do our parents really think that by splitting all of us up it’ll stop the sex?” Stiles grumbled into the pillow propped under his chin as he tapped a reply. “We’re all pretty accomplished at sneaking around.”

 

          Derek lazily mouthed at the top of Stiles’s spine. “If Cora thinks I’m going to let Johan sneak into her room at night she’s got another thing coming.”

 

          “Hey,” Stiles scowled. “You’re sleeping with a minor; I don’t think you have sexual high ground here.”

 

          He said something but his words muffled against Stiles’s skin. Stiles pinched him until he moved. “She lied to me,” his voice was angry and he kept his eyes half closed as if it was easier to talk without looking. Stiles had to keep himself from pinching Derek again to seem if that would prompt more of a response but his patience won out when Derek finally cleared his throat and said. “She knew how I felt and she let me think I had to share you to have you. I don’t care about sexual high ground.”

 

          “I’m not a thing to have, you know.” He knew his heart must have thumped a little louder when Derek said that but he didn’t mention anything. He knew Derek had heard it and from the way he tried to pull Stiles closer into the lee of his body he didn’t need a reply. Finally, he reluctantly pushed himself up so he was kneeling on the bed. “I’m going to shower before they get here.”

 

          Derek curled his arm tighter around his waist, trying to gently tug him back down. “You don’t have to shower.”

 

          Stiles looked at him disgustingly. “Dude, I reek. I got covered in the majority of jizz here and I’m not really looking forward to having a pack of werewolves being able to smell that.”

 

          “I thought you were showering to be considerate,” Derek gave up trying to pull him down and instead propped himself up on his elbows. “So you didn’t smell like Cora or I when you went between the two of us.”

 

          Stiles blanched at a little at that thought. “Dude, I was being considerate because it’s common human decency! Hygiene, buddy. I know you’re still getting used to having real indoor plumbing but we don’t have to ration water that much yet.”

 

          “I want her to smell me on you.”

 

          “That’s disgusting,” Stiles rolled his eyes as he got off the bed and started to gather the rest of his clothes. “Scott’s like my brother and I don’t want him to smell anything like that on me.”

 

          Derek levered himself to sit cross legged on the bed but didn’t bother to reach for his shirt tangled in the sheets. Instead he crossed his arms over his chest, watching Stiles as he tugged on his boxers while making a disgusted face at the now crusty feeling all over his body. “I may still be a little angry at her,” Derek admitted mildly.

 

          “Understatement,” Stiles said. “And you’re more than a little territorial. Well, are you coming?” Derek looked up puzzled. “Dude, we can still smell a little like each other. Just as long as we mostly smell like soap.”

 

          ***

 

          Derek was finishing cleaning up the broken glass while Stiles took care of the broken lamp when lock turned and Cora, Isaac and Johan arrived. Johan still looked shaky and drugged to the gills but Stiles had broken his arm once, he knew the feeling. Derek hovered in the kitchen making shooting Cora scary, uncomfortable looks until she settled Johan on the couch and retreated to her room. Isaac was a shit host, it seemed, because he was glued to his phone as Johan slumped half-stoned on the couch. Stiles knew he had to get going but he wasn’t going to leave the guy shivering and looked for any kind of blanket to cover him.

 

          He asked Isaac who shrugged distractingly but Johan said sleepily, “ _In den Schrank_.”

 

          “What?”

 

          “The closet,” he repeated, this time in English, pointing at the small sliding door by the bathroom. Sure enough, there was a well-worn blanket that Stiles suspected had been liberated from the McCall house by Isaac because he recognised the pattern. He passed it to Johan, wondering just how upset Derek would be to know that Cora had somehow managed to sneak Johan into the apartment often enough that Johan knew the inner layout. Not my problem anymore, Stiles decided because he was expressly not going to try and get between Derek and Cora’s turbulent relationship again.

 

His jeep was parked outside which meant Cora had probably been the one to drive it back and he patted the hood, looking for any extra dents or bangs before he got in. Between Derek’s dried black wolfsbane tainted blood stains on the interior, the arrow divots still decorating the body, the ruined upholstery and cracked passenger window, Stiles really couldn’t say how his car had faired with an inexperienced driver but it seemed okay. He drove back slower than normal because he was dreading the conversation he was going to have.

 

Predictably, his father was sitting at the table with the newspaper spread out in front of him. Stiles wondered if Allison was already here but from the way his father looked up, his eyes prepared and ready for whatever kind of epic throw down they were going to have he suspected not. “Allison is getting ready to batten down the hatches at the Argent’s apartment before her father leaves,” his father confirmed Stiles’s questioning posture. “I thought this would be a good time for a good old father son talk.”

 

“Awe, dad,” Stiles settled himself into the chair opposite his father, his tone light and casual but his hands curled tight on his knees. “How sweet. Before you ask, yes, I’d like to go to Disneyland for my birthday this year and, yes I’m going steal your ticket to FastPass every ride like usual. Great talk.”

 

He rose but one look from his father made him sit back down stiffly. “Your birthday. Right. Funny you should bring that up. How old are you turning this year? What, seventeen?”

 

“Hey, it’s eighteen this year and don’t forget it. I can finally stop stealing your porn mags.”

 

“Somehow I think we’ve got different tastes, son,” his father drawling and Stiles felt himself get even more on edge. That had almost sounded like a joke which meant either his father was winding up for a raging fight or—

 

“And I believe it’s eighteen in another ten months,” he said, his voice flat but not angry. “Which, according to California law, means I can toss Derek Hale’s ass in jail and this time it won’t be for murder.”

 

“Really?” Stiles decided ignorance was the best approach. “What for? Jaywalking have a statute of limitations or something?”

 

“All that back talk is going to get you into trouble one day.”

 

“Or out of it,” Stiles said.

 

“How long have you been dating him? And so help me, I’m going to ground you double for every lie you try to pull.”

 

“Not as long as you think,” Stiles said hastily. “Pretty much just after they moved out from here.” He winced as he thought about it. “Maybe, like, slightly before.”

 

“Great,” his father muttered. “And you and Cora—“

 

“No!” Stiles waved his arms so vigorously he smacked his hand hard on the table top. Rubbing it, he said again, “Never, not in a million years! Why will no one believe me?”

 

“She does seem like your type, son,” the tone was almost mocking.

 

“I spent the first month terrified she was going to murder me in my sleep, how is that a type?”

“I’ve been asking myself that very question since you started the third grade and met Lydia Martin.” That was definitely a mock and Stiles leveled a glare at his father.

 

“Cora is like female version of Scott to me.”

 

“So you and Scott—“

 

Stiles let out an anguished growl and struggled to stop himself from crawling under the table in disgust. His father was grinning. “I guess I owe Melissa ten bucks. Not even a little youthful experimentation? Even just over the clothes?” Stiles had slid so far down in the chair it really wouldn’t take much at all to just drop the rest of the way down to the floor and fake a seizure to avoid any follow up accusation. “Alright, stop being so dramatic,” his father rolled his eyes. “I’m still not happy about the Derek think. He’s 23, you know.” Then the sheriff snorted. “And you don’t have a type my ass.”

 

“In human years,” Stiles retorted, still scrubbing at his eyes as if he could erase the images his father had planted. “Werewolves age differently.”

 

“So you mean he’s older than 23?” his father’s eyebrows shot up. “Kid, you’ve got to learn when to stop just volunteering information.”

 

          Stiles settled back in his chair, waiting as his father sighed and seemed to mull that over. “When you say ‘dating’,” his father said the last word like he would say _genocide_ or _vegan mayonnaise_ , “what exactly do you mean?”

 

          “First, I never said dating, you said dating,” Stiles couldn’t stop himself from pointing accusingly. “And secondly, I often define dating as a way of finding the age of something very, very old.”

 

          “Like your boyfriend.”

 

          “Okay, I stepped into that one.”

 

          “Just, tell me with baseball metaphors.”

 

          “We’re still deciding pitching and catching but—“

 

          That seemed to cancel out whatever thin patience his father had and Stiles closed his mouth so fast he nearly bit his tongue. “If you aren’t going to take this seriously then I highly doubt your mental capabilities of being in a relationship with an older man. Especially a man with a history like Derek Hale’s.”

 

          “You do remember you were the one to exonerate him,” Stiles said quietly. “He’s not going to hurt me.”

 

          “I remember. I also remember being the one to tell him his entire family died in a house fire. Stiles, I know you’re a smart kid. Too smart for your own good sometimes but smart enough to handle the things you have handled, though I wish you didn’t have to. If you’re dating Derek Hale then you’re dating Derek Hale and I’m not going to be happy about it but I can’t claim it’s your worst decision ever. Though it’s pretty far up there on the list.”

 

          “Before or after the Spiderman vs. Batman Halloween fiasco?” Stiles asked, hiding a grin as his father rubbed his temples at the memory.

 

          “Somewhere between that and not telling me about who Cora really was.”

 

          That sobered Stiles a little. But then it hit him. “So, wait, you’re not, like, forbidding us?”

 

          “I’m not condoning it,” his father snapped. “You’re grounded, for one, for sneaking behind my back.”

 

          “I barely did that,” Stiles griped a bit but he could deal with that. “How long?”

 

          “Ten months.”

 

          “What?” Stiles couldn’t stop himself from leaping from his chair at that, sending it clattering to the ground. His father cracked a sadistic grin. “That’s outrageous! You can’t expect me to be able to avoid a person for that long in a town as small at Beacon Hills!”

 

          “I know, I know, I was kidding, jeez,” he rolled his eyes. “You never let your old man crack a joke anymore.”

 

          Stiles picked back up his chair and fell into it hard, this time his arms crossed angrily over his chest. “That’s because you’re not funny.”

 

          “I’m plenty funny,” his father said. “Everyone laughs at my jokes at the station.”

 

          “Because you pay them too.”

 

          “But seriously, you can’t go sneaking off with him. If you’re going to go and hang out,” his father made a face at the term, “or whatever you kids call it now, you have to let me know. I worried about you when the worst thing around here was bored kids with knives and the occasional mountain lion. If I could microchip I would.”

 

          That wasn’t an idle dream, Stiles knew. As much as he was grateful to stop lying to his father the man looked more tired now than when he had been running around confused about the strange, bizarre cases that could never actually be solved. Stiles was going to have to carry that guilt around and if his father had asked him to stop seeing Derek, Stiles wasn’t entirely sure he wouldn’t just do that to make his father happy. He reached across the table and gripped his father’s hand. “Thanks, dad.”

 

          “Don’t thank me,” his father grumbled. “Just don’t tell anyone at the station I just sanctioned a very illegal relationship between my underage son and a werewolf. The werewolf thing I think they’d believe but the other part would put me in front of a mental evaluation review board.”

 

          Stiles wasn’t entirely surprised to see Cora in his bedroom when he went up. She was struggling with something on his window frame and he was a little touched when she leaned back and he saw a shiny new bolt.

 

          “Rabid chipmunks,” she said stoically.

 

          “Thanks,” he grinned and settled on his desk chair. “Always a worry.”

 

          “I’m sorry,” she blurted out. She twisted the screwdriver in her hand over and over again, not meeting his eyes. “I shouldn’t have used you to cover up my relationship with Johan. It was selfish of me and I’m sorry if I fucked things up for you.”

 

          “At least you know Derek will put up with a lot,” Stiles said dryly. “I mean, he thought you were sleeping with me and he still wanted you to stick around.”

 

          She nodded, poking the screwdriver into the palm of her hand hard enough her skin turned white. Stiles reached out and plucked it from her hands easily and she gave him a half grin. “I think I suck at this Alpha thing.”

 

          “Well, at least you’re not Jackson lacrosse captain level of fails at leadership,” Stiles set the tool down on his desk. “But no one is dead and no one’s run away yet which is a good thing. I think I’ve got some bad news for you.”

 

          “More bad news,” Cora slumped, sitting on the edge of his bed. “Okay, hit me.”

 

          “You know I’ve been having some wicked nightmares, right?”

 

          “Because of Johan,” she said dully.

 

          “Well, yeah, but I think there’s more to it than that,” he resisted the urge to fiddle with the screwdriver himself. “I think whatever Johan was doing—which by all accounts seems to be second base – was amplifying something. All my dreams were about the Nemeton.”

 

          “What exactly are you trying to say?”

 

          Stiles’s knee was bouncing restlessly as he leaned forward, running fingers over his knuckles as he held her gaze. “I don’t think we can get cocky. Deaton said it was going to be like a Beacon calling things here. We need to be prepared which means we need the pack united.”

 

          “Scott and I are fine,” she said confused. “We’re not splitting the pack up.”

 

          “I meant between you and Derek,” Stiles said. “I mean it this time, you two need to patch things up. No more lying or manipulating.”

 

          “How exactly do you suggest we do that?” she said. “I can’t exactly grovel to him forever. I’ve got to be an Alpha if there are threats. I can’t beg to him for power, he’s got to give it freely.”

 

          “Then you’ve got to start doing things to make him want to give it to you,” Stiles leaned back and the chair creaked. “You can probably start by apologising to him too. He thought he was in a weird _ménage a trois_ with his younger sibling, if that had been me I’d be suffering some pretty bad mental trauma. Fortunately for you, Derek made of tougher stuff.”

 

          “Fine,” she said though it looked like it pained her. “Anything else?”

 

          Stiles thought for a moment but his mind was coming up empty. “I don’t know, man. The last time Scott and I fought I hit him with a crap load of lacrosse balls. It made me feel better.”

 

          “You’re suggesting I let Derek hit me with a bunch of balls? That’s not exactly going to make me seem like a dominate leader of the pack.”

 

          “Isaac and Scott are going to need to bone up on their werewolf skills and you’re the one in charge of that now. You’re going to need Derek to help,” Stiles shrugged. “You could do a good impression of a practice dummy if you really tried.”

 

          She nodded and flopped back on his bed. “This is going to hurt.”

 

          “Yup,” Stiles agreed and turned to his computer screen. “The San Diego Zoo just got new lion cubs. Let’s look at them for a while.”

 

***

 

          The cure Lydia cooked up with equal parts lumpy, gross and horrible but Johan took it without complaint. He healed quickly before the cure was even ready though so when Mr. Argent came back with guardianship papers, citizenship applications and a raging headache from US Immigration he was nearly back to 100%. Allison had been a pleasant houseguest for the two weeks she was there but Stiles had been demoted back to the squeaky pullout couch and he was grateful when Mr. Argent also managed to wrangle up the deed to a house fit for three teenagers. Stiles had managed to secretly video tape the training session where Cora reluctantly let Derek demonstrate the dozens of painful holds, breaks and dehabilitaing moves they were teaching Scott and Isaac on the pretense she was the Alpha and thus would heal better than if she inflicted the same injuries on Derek. Whenever they fought over stupid things, Stiles let Derek watch it with a manic glee.

 

          Now that he realised exactly what the giggles, sideways glances and hidden diagrams were, he became paranoid at school for so many other reasons. Fine, Scott was a cool dude and Stiles was pretty flattered to think that people thought they were a good pair. If he didn’t have vivid memories of Scott shoving worms up his nose and ears so he could pretend to be Dr. Octopus when they were six then he might have had his bisexual crisis with him. But he made sure to steer clear of Isaac who did the same to him and he hoped the rumours were settling down.

 

          The uneasy nightmares featuring the Nemeton were infrequent but still there. Over the course of the week Derek had stumbled across a kelpie, two woodland fairies and one very upset unicorn on his patrols of the preserve. Besides a tense standoff with the kelpie, nothing too bad had happened yet.

 

          “Yo, dude,” Scott nudged his arm as Stiles hunched over his textbook, pen in mouth as he alternated between highlighting and scribbling in the margins, library be damned. “Look.”

 

          Instead of their regular history teacher, an elderly woman who often forgot what decade they were in let alone the one they were covering in the textbook, a middle aged man was writing on the board. He was handsome enough but Stiles quickly straightened. New teachers, no matter how normal they were, were objects of suspicion after Miss Blake.

 

          “Hello class,” the man turned around with a friendly smile. “As you can see, my name is Mr. Yukimura and I’ll be your history teacher from now on. Mrs. Perkins has, on the advice of her doctor, decided to retire with her daughter in New Hampshire so I’ve been hired as her replacement. I hope you’ll bear with me as I get used to the school and this class, Mrs. Perkins’s notes were a little,” he made a pained face, “scattered. Also, I’m new to the area, as is my daughter, Kira—Kira, raise your hand.”

 

          As one, the student body turned to look at a girl slumped in the seat directly behind them, her textbook propped up on her desk covering her face. Two white knuckled hands were the only visible things but one released to wave a quick surrender before retreating. Stiles let out a sympathetic whistle through his teeth as the girl lowered the textbook, her face flaming red as her gaze darted looked around the room like a cornered animal.

 

          “Dude, that’s rough…” he turned to say to Scott but the other boy was staring at her with a stunned expression. “Dude, what are you looking at? Dude, no. Dude, you’re already in the weirdest relationship ever. Dude, _stop it_.”

 

          He glanced over to where Allison was sitting with Ria in the front row, both turned in their seats. If Scott looked stunned than Allison looked sly and she tore her eyes away from the girl to wink at Stiles.

 

          Ria glanced between the three before she rolled her eyes. He saw her say something to Allison who just nodded wickedly, her German already conversational.

 

          Damnit. Between his father being home all the time thanks to that new, prodigal deputy Parish and the way Mr. Argent policed his charges’ bedrooms like they were in some kind of nunnery, the apartment had been regulated as pretty much the swinger’s pad Derek had feared. There was a schedule on the fridge, a dry erase border with colours and codes because Stiles found it weird when everyone could listen in on him and Derek, Johan felt nervous with Derek in the house, and Allison and Isaac being a bit to exhibitionist for all of them. He was going to have to find way to pencil in _another_ person and it was all Scott’s damn fault.

 

          “Hey,” he heard Scott whisper to the new girl. “Do you need a pen?”

 


End file.
